Bits and Pieces
by Jessibelle811
Summary: The random bits that either aren't enough to stand on their own, or alternate pieces from other fics. Just things I thought you might enjoy. Rating will fluctuate. Mostly Cedfia-based. Rating raised to M to be safe.
1. Introduction

An Introduction

* * *

So this will be where I plan to put the bits and pieces that don't make it into my regular fics. That may include stand alone scenes, unfinished story ideas, or alternate scene that I decided not to use in a story. Some will be more polished than others. The idea is just to put out small works that I think the audience would enjoy despite being unfinished. The rating will fluctuate from chapter to chapter.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. If you see something you really like, let me know. You never know it could spark some inspiration to complete something, but I can't make any promises.

Welcome to my madness, and thank you for reading.

-Jessibelle811


	2. Thirst

_**Rating: Hard-T, borderline M.**_

Author's Note: This is an original, unfinished story I wrote for Halloween.

* * *

 _ **Thirst**_

* * *

 _I didn't know that I was starving 'til I tasted you._

-Hailee Steinfeld, _Starving_

* * *

He returned to his tower, discouraged and nearly sick with worry.

The king's announcement had him searching the castle all day, checking every elusive, improbable corner trying to find the missing princess. Where could Sofia be? The king claimed she was not only missing, but ill, and in need of immediate care.

The mysterious Lord Ashton seemed to have disappeared as well, which also worried the sorcerer. He hadn't trusted the man since he showed up three days earlier, showing an excessive interest in the youngest princess. Ashton was the last thing he and Sofia spoke about, the last thing they argued about. The need to find her escalated past concern, nearing panic. Exhausting every place he could think to search, he returned to his workshop, hoping he could conjure some spell or potion to locate her.

Wearily unlocking his door, he heard Wormwood cawing loudly from inside.

"Be quiet, Wormy, please." He rubbed his temple. "I already have a headache without your squawking."

But Wormwood persisted, adding the frantic flapping of his wings.

"Mister Cedric."

His head snapped up, half believing he'd imagine her voice, soft as it was. At first he didn't see her, hidden in the shadows beneath the curving stair case. A thin beam of sunlight just brushing the outer layers of her skirts, the rest of her remained shrouded in darkness.

"Sofia." He couldn't hide the desperate relief from his voice. She'd come here, sick and in need of help; she'd come to him. The thought made his heart skip and he tried not to let his emotions run away with him. "Sofia, the whole castle is looking for you."

"Are they?" She stayed where she was, hidden in the shadows, and he stepped closer to hear her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone."

He found her behavior odd, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw the pale pallor of her face. Purple smudged the hallows beneath her eyes and her usually pink lips appeared drained of color. Her usual lustrous curls hung in limp tangles about her shoulders. He hastened to close the last few feet between them, but Wormwood swooped down, darting between his master and the princess, still cawing.

"Wormwood!" Cedric drew back in surprise. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

Sofia ducked, cringing away from the bird as he looped around, driving at her with his claws out. Cedric jumped forward, catching the raven before it could reach her. Wormwood cawed and squirmed, but Cedric managed to hold him, taking the struggling bird across the room. Throwing open the latch on the window, he tossed Wormwood out into the air. Wormy righted himself almost at once, flying back to the window, but Cedric shut it in the bird's face. He glance at Sofia, who winced each time the bird cawed, shying away from the black figure still beating it's wings against the glass.

"I'm so sorry." Cedric swallowed thickly, baffled by his pet's behavior. "I don't know what that was all about."

Wormwood's actions worried him, but the more pressing matter of Sofia's health took precedence. She seemed to be leaning against the wall for support, so he rushed to her, taking her carefully by the elbows. "Are you all right? How do you feel? The king said you were sick."

"Yes," she answered distractedly, "I do feel a little ill."

 _A little?_ he thought. She appeared on the verge of collapse. "We should get you to the king and queen. There's a doctor here that says he can help." He pulled gently, trying to ease her out from the shadows.

"No!" She gripped his forearms with surprising strength. Her eyes pressed shut. "I mean, not just yet. Please, Cedric, the sun hurts my eyes. And my head hurts, so much."

Her hands squeezed where they gripped him and she began to tremble. In a surprising move, she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel so strange."

There was an edge of tears in her voice that pulled at his heart. Her slight frame, leaning against his for support, filled him with a rare masculine satisfaction. Tentatively he untangled her grip so he could ease his arms around her back. She softened further against him, moving her fingers to tangle in the folds of his robes. Cedric held his breath, knowing he shouldn't be enjoying this rare moment of intimacy. She was ill, in need of assistance, and he was here indulging in an embrace. This wasn't a hug of gratitude, but an embrace of comfort and trust. She trusted him to make her feel better. That she'd come to him above anyone else proved potent. Though he shouldn't, he couldn't help a fond nuzzle of his nose against her hair. Sofia made a sound, a sort of hum of contentment.

Her hands loosened, flattening her palms against the steady thrum of his heartbeat. She turned her face into him, dragging her nose across the fold of his shirt and up into the hollow just below his collar. There she pause taking in a deep drought of air. "Mmm, you smell good."

The unexpected words infused with a strong note of craving made him suck in a breath of his own. He blinked, befuddled and teetering somewhere between concern and exhilaration. Quickly, he scowled at his own thoughts, feeling guilty. "Sofia, you're ill. We need to get you to the doctor."

Groaning in protest, she dropping her weight against him so he was forced to tighten his hold. When her forehead brushed against his chin, he jerked back. "My god, you're freezing."

"Am I?" She muttered distantly, still rooting her nose against the folds of his cravat, as if seeking entrance.

"Yes, Sofia." He stared down at her, surprised she could be acting so blasé. Shifting her weight against this left arm, he used his right to press the inside of his wrist against her forehead. "I thought you'd have a fever, but you're ice cold."

She blinked back dazedly, eyes focused on the rare stripe of skin showing between his sleeve and the base of his gloves.

"Come now, we need to go." He tried again to shift her.

"You're right," she gripped him, holding him close. "I do feel cold. Perhaps I just need to lie down a moment."

He turned over the options, concern evident on his face. "Perhaps it would be best that you stay here while I fetch the doctor to you. Do you think you can make it in to the study?"

She nodded, finally allowing him to move her. In the light she looked even worse and Cedric became truly alarmed, amazed that she could stand on her own feet. Her eyes shut tight against the thin sunlight, allowing him to guide her. Wormwood, who had abandoned his frantic beating and cawing for an insistent tapping at the window, renewed his efforts, claws screeching against the glass.

All Wormwood's tantrum did was heighten Cedric's worry to the edge of panic. He'd always heard that animals could sense illness and he wondered that Sofia wasn't in worse condition than he originally thought. She leaned heavily against his side as he led her carefully down the stairs into the adjourning room, blessedly muffling the racket the raven continued to make.

"Lie down here."

She did as he bade, sitting on a velvet couch pushed long the wall. He arraigned the throw pillows with tender care, helping her lie on her side. She watched him, silent but focused, stirring a nervous, self-conscious energy inside him.

Once she was settled, he lit a fire in the grate using his wand, charming the flames high to fill the chill, damp room with warmth. He looked around, spying a spare blanket thrown over the back of another chair.

The golden light of the fire polished her skin with a false flush of life and vitality. She didn't look nearly so bad as she had in the sunlight and the vision of her lying back against the cushions, her hair unbound and rumpled inspire an inappropriate response in him. One encouraged by the oddly craving glint in her eyes. He tried to attribute it to her sickness. Unfolding the blanket, he carefully draped it over her, hiding the enticing dip of her waist and the rounded curve of her hip, not to mention the sensual rounding of her breasts over the unforgiving rigidity of her corset. He felt shame, thinking of her that way when she needed his assistance.

She pursed her lips, frowning. "I'm so thirsty."

Fumbling for his wand, he conjured a glass of water. "Here." Kneeling by her side, he lifted her carefully, easing an arm beneath her head to tip the glass to her lips. She drank deeply, but pushed him away before the water was gone.

"S'not helping," she moaned miserably, flopping restlessly onto her back. "So thirsty."

"It's all right," he soothed the hair back from her brow, feeling miserably ineffectual. She was warmer than before, but still cold to the touch. "Wait here. I'll get the doctor. He'll know what to do."

"No," she whined, "Stay with me."

"Sofia," he patiently adjusted the blanket, pulling it back up from where it had fallen in her writhing. "You need a doctor. I don't know how to help you."

She pushed up onto her elbows suddenly, a fervent light shining in her eyes. "Yes, you can Cedric. I need you."

 _I need you_. How he'd longed to hear those words from her. The last thing he wanted was to leave this room, but she needed help that he couldn't provide, no matter what she said. Not to mention she was most likely delusional.

"I need to get the doctor." He repeated patiently. But when he began to rise, the pressure of her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"No!" She commanded firmly. "Stay."

Cedric blinked, a warm, fuzzy haze suddenly muddling his thoughts. He sat back down.

"Yes," Sofia murmured. Resting on one elbow, she reached out to stroke his face. "Stay, Cedric, I need you."

"But-," he mumbled, blinking slowly. There was something he was supposed to do. Somewhere he was supposed to go, but he couldn't quite remember. How was that possible? He'd known it only a moment ago.

"Shhhh," she soothed, pressing a finger over his lips. Her voice took on a dreamy quality, lulling him with its sing-song cadence. "You can help me, can't you Cedric?"

He nodded. Yes! He wanted to help her, that was it. But why had he thought he needed to go somewhere? To get someone else, perhaps? But who? She needed him, and he was right here. Willing to give her whatever she required.

"Good." She sat up, allowing the blanket to slip off. The fatigue seemed to slide off her as well, a buzzy anticipatory energy giving her sudden strength. Her hand strayed from his lips to cup his cheek, thumb stroking restlessly over his cheekbone. She struggled with herself. She wanted ... something from him. She wasn't sure exactly what, but she needed him. Just him. She needed Cedric. That's why she came to his workshop, even as she hid from everyone else. Something was happening to her body, something she didn't understand and it frightened her. She felt so strange, restless with cravings she could barely fathom.

The things Wormwood had said to her still echoed in her ears. He'd hissed hurtful insults at her, calling her unnatural, screaming for Cedric to stay away from her. But Cedric couldn't understand the raven the way she could, and she was glad for it. She didn't want Cedric to look at her with horror and fear in his eyes. She wanted him gazing at her with adoration, like he was now, on his knees at her feet.

He had something she needed.

She slid down the side of the couch, gliding to the floor so she was kneeling before him as well. Her breath went shallow, even as his remained steady and slow.

"Touch me, Cedric, please."

His arms came about her at once, hands going to her waist. She pressed against him, trying to burrow as deeply against him as she could. To steal the warmth that poured from him, even as her own body grew cold. When his arms wrapped around her, one hand curling around her opposite hip, while the other splayed across her back, she murmured in approval. She nuzzled her nose against the underside of his jaw, marveling at the warmth of his skin.

"You smell so good," she moaned, opening her mouth as if she could taste him in the air. His scent was irresistible, a citrusy spice overlaid with a hint of smoke. She could also smell something sharp and metallic that made her mouth water. Burrowing down, her nose lead her deeper against the crook of his neck and she growled - _growled_ \- in frustration to find her path blocked by layers of cloth.

God, she needed something from him. Something that would make the ache in her stomach and the insistent pain in her head go away. He could heal her. He had what she needed. Cedric groaned when she nipped her teeth over the satin covering of his cravat. There was so little of him exposed and she wanted his skin beneath her lips.

With an impatient growl, she reared back, fairly ripping at the knot of his tie. She tossed the scrape of silk aside, moving on to the buttons of his shirt. Opening the collar of his shirt, she could _feel_ the heat emanating from him. Drawn to it, her lips pressed to the dip between his collarbones before her tongue flicked out to taste his skin.

"Sofia," his voice strained, holding a hint of confusion.

"Shhh," she soothed, licking a long line up to his jaw. Tonguing his pulse point, before scraping her teeth against his skin, enjoying the sound of his hoarse moan. They were already pressed flush against each other, but she needed more.

Tugging and pushing, she guided him around until he was sitting back against the couch. She struggled impatiently with the many layers of her skirt, climbing astride his lap until there was nothing between them but his trousers and her pantelettes. Where before she felt cold, now a fever had taken over, setting her on fire. Restless with wanting, she tore at his buttons until she loosed his shirt enough to snake her hands inside. The captivating drum of his heartbeat warmed her palm. Her skin felt like it was burning from the heat of him, but she held it there, exhilarating in the pleasurable pain.

"Kiss me," she commanded, already leaning towards him.

He came eagerly, lips crashing against her parted mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick his lips. When they parted for her, she cupped the back of his head, holding him steady as she plundered his mouth with her tongue. She could feel him, growing hot and aroused between her legs. Sinking down low, she rolled her hips, rubbing the wet core of her womanhood against the enticing firm warmth of his erection. Cedric let out a breathy moan to match her own.

"Do you like that?" She breathed, curious and amazed. "Does it feel good?"

His brown eyes took on a dark, glossy sheen. Lips parted as his breath came ragged now. When she rolled her hips against him again, he groaned, "Yes."

She licked her lips. This new feeling was good, and it helped slake the hunger, but it wasn't enough to quench it completely. His hands tightened on her hips and she whimpered because he felt _so good_ , but she needed more. He kissed her, making sounds of approval as she continued to rock on his lap.

She pulled away suddenly, gasping abruptly when her body began to tighten, trembling when the most sensitive part of her womanhood ground against him. Panting, she abandoned her pursuit of his neck to explore this new, captivating feeling. She rocked now without head for rhythm or pace, chasing the rising, tightening feeling coiling below her belly. He let her do as she wanted, slumped against the couch with his eyes half closed. She shuttered to a stop, body clenching tight as her undulations gained purchase and she shattered, crying out. She recovered quickly, finding the sweet cresting of pleasure only poured accelerant on the fire inside her. Beginning her movements again, Cedric groaned against her hair, still firm and warm between her legs. She wanted more.

Mouth open and gasping, she moved against his throat, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath her tongue. The scent of his skin filled her head with an intoxicating euphoria. He had what she needed, she need only take what was there for the offering. She had to swallow twice, fairly drooling from the temptation beneath her lips. She kissed his neck, fighting the confusing instincts pressing her on.

Her hips rolled, but that wasn't all she wanted. She wanted to bite him. To feel his skin between her teeth. His blood on her tongue. The thought should have frightened and disgusted her, but instead she found it impossible to ignore. She wanted him _inside_ her.

"Sofia," Cedric groaned, nuzzling against her hair.

It was all right, she told herself, the wanting. Cedric would give her what she needed. He'd never deny her.

Her lips parted and she bit down on the soft join where his neck met his shoulder. The ease with which his skin split surprised her, but not so much as the heady rush of salty warm liquid that filled her mouth. Her eyes rolled back with the pleasure of it. Yes, this is what she needed.

Cedric's hands clenched as he stirred weakly beneath her, but she soothed him, petting the back of his head where she cradled it against her shoulder. He quieted, and she allowed herself a moment to luxuriated in the sinful pleasure of tasting his blood, his life force, filling her, infusing her cold body with warmth. She didn't want the moment to end quickly, and so she pulled her teeth out, letting his blood well on the surface of the puncture wounds she made. She licked her lips and felt the pointed tips of her canines, sharpened to fangs.

She pulled back, watching his eyes go hooded and glassy. She couldn't feel him between her legs anymore, but that didn't matter because his blood filled her with an ecstasy of its own. His lips parted around his ragged breathing and she was suddenly filled with an unmistakable fondness for him. Cedric had always been there for her, helping her, sacrificing for her. Ignoring the more pressing temptation of his bleeding neck, she pulled him forward, kissing him slow and languid. When she pulled away, his own blood was smeared across his mouth.

At the moment she was struck with how she wanted him to stay with her. If she didn't stop, he would leave her, leaving only the cold, lifeless shell in which he used to reside. His life was so tenuous, so fragile, and it was in her hands.

The wound on his neck still welled, blood dripping in thick rivulets, soaking into the collar of his shirt. The smell of his blood, the sight of it, called to her. She hesitated, but the heady scent of his blood filled her with a predatory need. Bending down, she licked it from his neck. She tried to stop, to keep him here, but this new hunger tore at her, driving her to open her mouth wide, sinking her newly sharpened fangs back into his neck. He moaned weakly, the warmth of life leeching from him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, sucking vigorously. His hands convulsed once, tightening sharply before loosened from her waist, falling limply against the floor.

She couldn't stop herself. She wanted him to stay with her, but she couldn't stop. Her eyes rolled back against the unrelenting euphoria, absorbing his life as her own, taking him inside her. Her fingers carded through his hair, holding his head against her shoulder as his body began to fall, no longer possessing the energy to hold himself up.

So entranced, she didn't hear the others until hands were grasping at her, pulling her away. Something pricked her neck, puncturing her skin. Then the sounds came rushing back. The cawing of a raven, people shouting, a woman's gasp of horror. She didn't care about any of it. Any of them. They were trying to take Cedric from her and the very idea put her in a rage. Twisting around like a hissing cat, she bared her new fangs. The guard that held her jerked back in surprise.

"My god," cried a man's voice that sounded like her father's.

"Hold her," commanded a new voice she didn't recognize. She turned to see a stranger with white hair kneeling beside Cedric. Two more guards rushed in to help restrain her as she continued to struggle. A third guard stood by, his complextion ashen as he looked around, not sure what to do.

"You there," the white haired stranger commanded, "Apply a firm pressure here, and do not let up."

The terrified guard did as the man bid him, pressing a cloth to Cedric's neck, but Sofia could see the rag quickly turning red. Cedric's eyes were closed, and he didn't so much as stir despite the chaos erupting around him.

The white-haired stranger, the only focused and capable person in the room, came towards her then. The room began to fade, the edges going fuzzy. "That injection of Sativum won't last long. We need to get her to the dungeon."

"Doctor Albescu, is that really necessary?"

Sofia's head lolled, the strength leeching from her bones. Her eyes rolled, looking about the room. Her mother stood, clutching the king's arm. They were both looking at her, identical masks of horrified fear on their faces.

"We talked about this," the doctor said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She is a danger until I can purge the taint from her system. I have no time to argue about propriety or rank. I need to save this man's life."

He was already tending to Cedric, digging into a black bag at his side. He peeled the sodden cloth from the unconscious sorcerer's neck, pouring a vial of clear liquid into the wound. The mixture bubbled, smoking slightly, creating a pink paste where it mingled with Cedric's blood. Without turning to the guards, he snapped, "You know what to do. Lock her in the dungeon. DO NOT open the door until I arrive, and for god's sakes stay away from the bars."

Sofia hung limply in their hands. Whatever the stranger injected into her system made her weak, but the will, the desire to attack these men -to bite and tear at them- remained. And Cedric- She didn't want to leave Cedric. He belonged to her.

Her mother moaned quietly, pressing her face against Roland's shoulder as they dragged Sofia past, unable to look at the blood smeared across her daughter's face, dripping down the front of her dress.

Roland squeezed his wife's hand.

The last thing Sofia heard as they dragged her from the room was her father's voice, heavy with concern. "Is Cedric going to live?"

Doctor Albescu sighed tiredly. "I do not know."

* * *

They put her in the dungeon.

She could hear the guards speaking quietly as they awaited the arrival of this foreign, strange doctor who seemed to know everything about her.

"Did you see her teeth?" One guard whispered to another.

"Like a demon," another answered, his voice rough and weathered.

Sofia peered out through her tangled hair, just able to make out the three men standing out of arm's reach of the bars. Her head was beginning to clear. One guard, the eldest, made the sign of the cross over his chest.

"What'd she do to M'ster Cedric? He looked bled dry." Asked the youngest among them, his voice quavering.

"Aye," the old guard replied.

"B-but," the young man stuttered, unable to comprehend the horror he'd seen. "If he bled out, what happened to all the blood?"

The old guard turned, piercing her with pale blue eyes. "She drank it."

Sofia stared back, tempted to hiss and spit and bare her teeth, but the old guard's words stopped her. Drank blood? Her? The fog in her head began to clear and she remembered vividly the taste of Cedric's blood filling her mouth.

Cedric! What had she done? She wanted him so badly, she couldn't stop herself. She'd gorgered herself, while his life slipped away beneath her teeth. That doctor wasn't sure Cedric would survive. She had to help him! Her limbs felt like lead and all she could manage was a weak writhing on the packed dirt floor.

Someone was coming down the stairs.

"Open the door," she heard the voice of the doctor, "But carefully. She's weakened, but plenty dangerous. You, hold her left arm. You, her right. You, will stand by to offer assistance if it's necessary."

"Please, Sir, we couldn't harm the Princess," the youngest guard offered.

"She's not you princess now," Dr. Albescu replied, not unkindly. "And she won't be ever again if we do not act."

 _Dangerous?_ She thought in a daze. How could she be dangerous? But then, it had taken three guards to drag her here, barely able to force her into the cell while she struggled.

The barred door, creaked. The men acted quickly, professionals all, though they wouldn't look directly at her. The two guards pinned her to the floor. The doctor, a man of aging years with spectacles and a white mustache and goatee, stood over her. She snapped her teeth at him. Retrieving a vial from his bag, he held her jaw in surprisingly strong fingers, forcing a vial liquid down her throat.

"Quickly," the doctor commanded them. "Release her and then get out with as much haste as possible."

The guards, several she knew by name, eyed each other uneasily.

"Do as he says." She heard her father's voice then, heavy with sorrow. She hadn't heard him come down.

Albescu seemed to take pity on the men as they continued to pin down their struggling princess. The young woman who had only ever been a soft, bright spot in their lives. "Fear not," he told them. "I regret that this is necessary, but it is for her own good. She will be well soon."

After that time became a blur. The potion the old man had forced on her turned her stomach, causing her to disgorge a thick fluid that looked black in the low light. She retched until she was weak from it, her stomach felt turned inside out. Then she retched again because she knew the thick, dark fluid was Cedric's blood. The guards brought her water, which after the first few hours of sickness she was able to crawl over an drink thirstily.

Her mother came, sitting with her for hours. Dr. Albescu warned her not to get too close to the bars until the "curse", as he called it, was completely out of her system. Too weak to speak, Sofia would have agreed because she could smell the warm, living scent of her mother's skin. Hear the tempting thump of blood pumping through her veins. Sofia curled tighter in on herself, a miserable ball on the lone cot inside the cell.

When the sun rose the next day, the light hurt her eyes but she no longer felt the anxious, ants-along-her-skin feeling it caused the day before. That day they brought her cups of water and bowls of broth. The water she drank, but her stomach was still too sensitive for anything else until the sun was nearly down. She ignored her mother's attempt to speak with her, feeling too wretched, horrified and guilty by what she'd done. At dinner time she ate a little and fell into a heavy sleep. She woke stiff the next morning, her neck aching from sleeping at an odd angle.

When she sat up, rubbing the grim from her eyes, she heard the door unlock. Doctor Albescu came inside, leaving the gate open behind him. He looked upon her with a sympathetic pain and she realized how very kind his face was. The first night, she'd spat at him, cursing and clawing, wanting nothing more than to hurt this stranger. Now she looked away from him in shame.

He knelt down beside her, taking her limp wrist beneath his finger to count her pulse. "How do you feel?" He asked gently, pulling first one eyelid up and then the other, observing her pupils.

"Terrible," she croaked, her throat raw and parched.

"Hm," he hummed in agreement. "Open, please."

She opened her mouth, nervously running her tongue over her teeth, relieved to find them reassuringly blunt.

"Good," the Doctor muttered t himself, pleased with what he saw. "And the sun, how does it make you feel?"

Sofia realized then she'd sat up directly into a bright ray of sunshine. The warmth felt good on her skin. She turned her face into it, letting the rays kiss her face as if they could heal the pain inside her. There was something flitting at the edges of her conscience, but she pulled back from it. Like probing a raw wound, she felt too fragile to examine it. "The sun feels good," she muttered, her head to fuzzy and aching to supply more than the most basic words to answer his question.

"Good," he repeated. "I think we can let you come out now. You'll need rest. I'm sure you'd rather do it in your room than here."

His voice was kind and she nodded. But when she tried to stand her knees buckled. The doctor called for assistance, and she was fairly certain it was her own father who carried her back to her room. She wasn't sure because moments after she felt kind hands bearing her up, her eyes rolled back and she blacked out again.

* * *

When Sofia woke again, she was in her own bed. The sun was high in the sky, telling her it was late in the day. Opening her eyes was difficult. She was so tired. But she forced herself to waking. there was something important screaming at the back of her mind. She heard some sounds inside the room with her. The shifting of fabric, steps across the floor, a door opening. "Tell the king," she heard her mother's urgent voice. "She's awake."

On the bedside table sat a glass of water and she reached for it, managing to lift up on her elbow enough to gulp it down greedily. Some spilled down the front of her nightgown in her clumsy haste.

"Here." A gentle hand covered her own, another going round the cup the back of her head. As she drank, Sofia rolled her eyes up to find her mother looking down at her. Deep grooves of worry etched the corners of her mouth and forehead, and Sofia wondered at how deep her mother's fear and horror must have run these past days. _How many days had it been?_

Miranda helped ease her back down to the pillows. Setting the empty glass down, she sat on the edge of the bed, turning to fuss over the arraignment of the blankets. The door flung open and her father stood in the entrance way, flushed and out of breath.

"Sofia," he breathed in relief, coming towards her at once, leaning over the bed to wrap her in a crushing hug. "How do you feel, Honey?

Sofia opened her mouth, reaching automatically to reply that she was fine. Her mother was obviously distressed and it was her first instinct to assuage that stress. But her lips parted silently. Instead of speaking she gasped in a deep breath of pain. "Oh god," she whispered in horror, tears overwhelming her eyes, streaking down her cheeks. "I killed him."

Miranda's face contracted in a mask of anguish, glancing anxiously at her husband. Sofia began to crying in earnest, great wracking sobs that she didn't know she had the energy to produce, as she took their reluctant silence as confirmation. Her mother pulled her up into a soothing embrace, stroking her daughter's back.

"No," she crooned. "No, Sweetheart. Cedric's alive."

Sofia's hiccuping sob cut off in a rush of relief. She pushed her mother back, needing to see her face, to know she was telling the truth, though she had no reason to believe her mother would lie. "He's alive?"

"Yes," Miranda answered, but her eyes shifted guiltily away.

"What?" Sofia asked, gripping her mother's arms fervently. "What is it?"

Her mother's face softened with regret and she glanced again at Roland.

He hesitated, before saying carefully, "He hasn't woken up yet."

A spasm of panic gripped Sofia's heart. "How- how long has it been?"

"Two days," her mother answered softly.

 _Two days_ , Sofia's mind reeled. She tried not to think of that first night when she seemed to regurgitate _gallons_ of dark red fluid.

"Can I see him?"

"I do not think that is a wise idea." Their heads turned towards the speaker by the door. Doctor Albescu stood just inside the room, a black bag hanging from his hand. "Your friend is resting for now. I've administered several blood regenerating potions, but they take time. He's out of the woods for now."

"Still," Sofia insisted, feeling her anxiety for Cedric's health, his very life, wouldn't ease until she saw him with her own eyes. "I want to see him."

Dr. Albescu's eyes were kind, but his mouth pressed into a reluctant line. "All right," he raised his hand when the King opened his mouth to protest. " **After** ," he added, "I check you over, and you eat something."

Sofia nodded eagerly. Anything, she'd do anything.

Albescu, who Sofia discovered his first name was Marcus, checked her more thoroughly than his cursory examination in the dungeons. From his bag he produced a strange listening device he called a stethoscope. With an end in each ear, he used the flat disk at the end to listen to her heart and lungs. Unlike a regular doctor she realized he was not just checking for signs of good health, but signs of life. It chilled her to remember the slow drum of her heartbeat, each pause an eternity before the next sluggish beat. She shivered, thinking how close she had come to having no heartbeat at all, but still alive despite it. She took a deep drought of air, if only to reassure herself that she did in fact need to breathe.

He checked her temperature, her pulse, her pupil response, all the while making polite conversation. She answered as politely as she could, fighting down impatience born from fear. Finally, a maid brought in a tray with a steaming bowl of broth with crackers.

She took her first sip, making a face. It had a strong metallic taste.

"Sorry," Marcus's lips quirked wryly in apology. "I instructed them to boil the broth with an iron bar in it."

Sofia frowned because she'd heard such superstitious remedies before and always assumed them useless.

"The iron," he explained, "Necessary to replenish the blood. You lost quite a bit as well, young lady."

Talk of blood turned her stomach, but the doctor would not relent on his demands, so she forced herself to eat down every drop. And she did feel better, weak still, but nothing so fatal she wouldn't drag herself to Cedric's room is she had to.

Without a reason to delay, Marcus left the room respectfully while Miranda dressed her in a robe and slippers, forgoing customary modesty because Sofia was far too weak to be subjected to her usual gowns and corsets. Leaning between her parents, who continued to shoot worried glanced back and forth, they lead her to a guest room off the main hall. At first she was confused, but soon realized Cedric's drafty, damp tower was no place for convalescing.

Despite her insistence to be brought here, at the last moment she almost wished to turn away, not wanting to see how he looked. What she'd done to him. But she forced herself forwards, needing to bear witness to the dark deeds she'd perpetrated against him. The first thing she noticed was Winifred seated in a chair by the window. The older witch had always adored Sofia, doting upon her for befriending her introverted son. But today she frowned, her brow lowered in disapproval. A baffled hurt pierced Sofia's heart until she thought on why Winifred would look at her in such a way: Sofia had very nearly killed her son. The rebuke shining in Winifred's eyes was nearly enough to send Sofia running from the room, had she the energy to do so.

Goodwin stood facing the window. When he turned to see her, he offered her a small, sad smile. Wormwood perched on a stand which must have been brought in for him. He similarly glared and she tried not to think on the names he'd called her as he tried valiantly, and rightfully, to warn his master away from her.

With no one else to distract herself with, she finally had to settle her gaze upon Cedric's prone body. He looked strangely fragile in the center of the large bed. The white sheets and pillows only heightened the pallid, washed out tones of his skin. He looked so strange to her and she realized that it lie in part because he wasn't wearing a shirt. The sheet was pulled up under his armpits, leaving his shoulder and arms bear. She'd never seen any part of him except his face and the tips of his fingers before. Intricate black lines stood out in startling contrast, circling each bicep. His forearms bore lines of script, winding around his skin in arcane languages. Atop each shoulder was a wheel of nested circles, impossibly delicate ancient symbols etched between the curves of each one.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, in part because she wanted to be close to him, but mostly because she lacked the energy to continue standing. Though there was certainly nothing intimate about this scene, a young woman in her night gown sitting in bed with a half-naked man still set off alarm bells of propriety. From the corner of her eye, she saw Goodwin rest a reassuring hand on his wife's shoulder. Winifred pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it and instead crossed her arms, turning her face away.

Her audience be damned, she leaned down, resting her cheek against his chest. It wasn't a caress or embrace, she wanted - _needed_ \- to hear his heart beat. A chair scraped behind her and she imagined Winifred standing in outrage. She wanted to turn her face, to offer a kiss of gratitude to the strong, resilient muscle that continued to beat despite her efforts to stifle it. But she thought better of it, suspecting Winifred's restraint and her parents indulgence only extended so far. _Thank you_ , she whispered silently across her mind, taking an extra moment to appreciate the warm flush of life beneath her cheek.

* * *

Author's Note: So that was my Halloween horror story that didn't go anywhere. I loved the bits I wrote, but I didn't have the time or energy to expand on it. Maybe someday. But that's all for now.


	3. Thirst: Bad Things

**Rating: Yeah, let's just go with M.**

Author's Note: Just having more fun with vampires. In the context of the "story" this takes place after Thirst, later that night. I have more bits to do with the vampire that turned Sofia and the mysterious doctor that saved her life that I'll write up and post at a later date. Not a full story yet, but I'll keep piecing it together here and if it ever forms into a story then I'll worry about publishing it as a separate story.

* * *

 **Thirst: Bad Things**

* * *

 _Don't matter what you say  
Don't matter what you do  
I only wanna do bad things to you_

-Camila Cabello & Machine Gun Kelly, _Bad Things_

* * *

Now that she had recovered some of her strength, sleep didn't come as easily to Sofia. Her night was restless, tossing and turning, starling at every sound.

She must have dozed off at some point, because she woke unexpectedly, knowing some small sound had startled her. Light spilled in from the hallway casting the shadow of a person over her bed. Fear gripped her heart, making it pound at the memory of Lord Ashton. Had he come back to take her away as he'd planned? Did he mean to turn her into a monster again? She tried not to panic, telling herself it was most likely her mother, merely worried and peering in to check on her. As she dithered between panic and rational, the door swung shut with a muted click and she felt the presence of someone inside the room with her. Unable to stand the suspense, she peeked over her shoulder.

Cedric stood there, barefoot and shirtless, just as she'd seen him last. The tattoos she'd only just seen for the first time that afternoon stood out in stark relief against his pale skin. He was watching her from beneath hooded eyes.

"Cedric?" She sat up, pressing a hand to her heart. Seeing him whole and sound was such a relief she forgot to feel immodest in her nightgown. "You're alright."

"Mmmm," he hummed noncommittally, his eyes moving over her.

His slow, thorough gaze finally woke the latent sense that she should cover herself. When she gathered the sheet to her chest, he began walking towards her. His eyes focused on her face, looking more golden than usual; they seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. She began to ramble, unnerved by his silent, intent expression. "They told me you were unconscious for days. Doctor Albescu said you'd recover, but I feared that you'd never wake up."

He rounded the edge of her bed, running a lazy finger over the covers. "You were worried about me?"

She tried not to gap openly at his bare chest as he came closer. She hadn't had much opportunity to inspect a half-naked man before, suddenly finding herself alone with one in her bedroom was proving distracting. "Um, yes, of course. I mean, I-" she lowered her eyes in shame, voice dropping into a whisper, "I very nearly killed you."

"Nearly," he agreed, stopping at the foot of the bed directly in front of her. He was so strangely composed that she wondered if the lingering effects of blood loss were still playing with his mind.

"But," he continued, placing first his hands upon the bed, then his knee, "Here I am, whole and," he smirked, "Relatively sound."

Sofia sat frozen when he climbed boldly onto her bed, crawling on hands and knees towards her. He moved with a liquid grace that left her mouth dry as she shrank back against the pillows, clutching the blankets tighter. "Cedric?" Her voice wavered when he climbed over her, planting a hand on either side of her head. "What are you doing?"

His face loomed close to hers. "Finishing what you started."

He leaned down then, kissing her with a hunger that made everything else fall away. Her hands flew to his chest instinctively and she tried to jerk away in surprise, but she was trapped between the pillows and the pressure of his lips. She wasn't offended or disgusted by the gesture, just very, very confused. He tilted his head to the side, sliding the full measure of his mouth against hers; his tongue licked out, plying her lower lip with a seductive caress that dared a response. She wanted to answer, but felt too unsure of what was happening yet.

She managed to twist her head away. "Cedric, please," she pleaded for patience, for explanation, for anything to make this new, suddenly bold version of him make sense.

He ignored her, skimming his tongue along her jaw, nipping sharply at the underside of her ear. Sofia gasped, her body igniting like a lit fuse. Her hands stopped pressing, fingers curling around the warmth of his bare shoulders. His mouth moving along her throat made her lose track of her thoughts. He said he was here to finish what she started, and when he shifted his weight to one hand, gathering her sheets to tear away that thin barrier between them, she began to understand.

She shook in her thin night dress. He leaned in, looming over her. When his knee pressed between her legs, parting them, some sense awoke inside her. She pressed against his chest again, this time with enough insistence that he finally raised his head to look at her. She blinked back, wide eyed. "I don't think that-"

His lips moved in, stopping her protests. "Don't think, then."

The kisses turned slower, gentler; less insistent and more seductive. Despite her reservations, she gave herself over to it, loosening her lips and allowing his tongue to slip between them. As if sensing her surrender, he shifted his knees between her legs, making her part them around his hips. He settled down over her, nestling his hips between the hollow of her parted legs. He pressed firmly into her and she gasped against his kiss, feeling him hard and aroused through their clothes.

When his lips finally released her, flowing down her throat with an open mouthed heat, she trembled beneath him. It was too much, all happening too fast. "Cedric, please, slow down. I-"

"Hush, little one." She stiffened to hear him call her the same endearment Ashton had used. But then he scraped his teeth against the pulse point that thumped recklessly in her neck. She moaned when his tongue licked over it, before closing his mouth over the sensitive spot, sucking strongly to a point just shy of pain. She couldn't help rolling her hips up to press against him, trying to relieve the growing arousal between her legs. He released her neck, shifting down the bed. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

He eased back between her knees, running his hands up the inside of her legs, lifting her nightgown away. She blinked, trying hard to gather her wits. "No, of course not. I mean, I don't think so."

"Good." Though he smiled, Sofia had the impression that he was mocking her. His right hand slid beneath her left knee, lifting her leg while his other hand continued its slow, purposeful trek up her right thigh. He dipped his head to kiss the inside of her bent leg, just above the knee. "I'd never hurt you." He placed another warm kiss a bare inch above the last. "Any more than you would me, that is."

Sofia frowned, but then his kisses climbed higher, his hand going beneath her clothing. Her nightgown slipped up when he used the grip under her left knee to press her leg up and open, cocking it to the side to allow him access to her inner thigh. The warmth of his breath tickled the skin there, raising goosebumps along its path. The thumb of his other hand stroked its way further upwards. She clutched the feather mattress beneath her, her breath stolen by uncertainty. She ached for him to continue, but her staccato pulse pounded a warning.

Cedric's thumb brushed high enough to tickled the curls between her legs. She drew in a sharp breath, frozen with mingled anticipation and misgiving. His thumb rolled over her again, this time with enough pressure to part her curls and slide along the moist slit of her sex. Sofia gasped, letting her head loll back against the pillows. Despite any reservations, she couldn't stop the intrinsic response of her body to his touch. His stroked her with a firm steady rhythm, delving minutely deeper with each pass until he found the bundle of nerves hidden near the top of her folds. While she whimpered, he pressed upon the spot, firmly massaging the sensitive bead of flesh in tight rhythmic circles.

Against her inner thigh his mouth opened, running his tongue along the pristine skin there. She gasped and tensed at the maneuvers of his hand, but when she felt a sharp pain where his mouth sealed over her leg, she cried out. Cedric sucked hard on the tender skin and the pain shifted from a piercing sting to a drawn out burning. She tried to squirm away from the uncomfortable feeling, but he held her tight. His thumb stroked over her confused the discomfort of his mouth with sharp waves of pleasure. She shifted against the bed spread, writhing in an involuntary reaction to the confusing signals of her body. She didn't know if she wanted to twist away or press closer to him. She began to shake, a warm, hazy feeling falling over her.

He pivoted his hand, and now she felt one of his fingers slide inside her. She moaned, feeling drowsy and drugged, yet set aflame all at once. His finger stroked her with a strong, steady rhythm, just as his mouth drew upon her inner thigh. Her shoulders, her arms and legs, every part of her tensed, trembling and terrified at what to expect. His finger pressed steadily in and out and he passed his thumb again over the spot that made her weak with pleasure. She threw her head back against the pillows, whimpering at the mingled sensations of pain and pleasure over-riding her brain.

When she collapsed against the bed, weak with release, his mouth finally left her thigh, tongue lapping over the aching spot before he climbed back over her. His mouth found hers at once, his tongue sliding easily between her yielding lips. On his kiss she tasted the now familiar flavor of salt mixed with iron. Blood, she realized. There was blood in her mouth.

His fingers had moved away from her, finally giving her mind space to fully wake to the danger. Cedric pulled his head back, gazing down on her with pale golden eyes. Blood colored his lips and chin and she saw the glistening points of his canines shining in the moonlight.

"No," she whispered before shock and horror stole her voice.

"Why so surprised, my dear?" He leaned on his elbow, running the tip of his forefinger along her jaw in a mocking caress. "I am only what you made me."

She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. "No ... I didn't-"

"Shhh," he soothed, sweeping his thumb over her lower lip. His hand wrapped around her chin. Slowly he bend her head to the side, exposing her bare throat. She knew what he meant to do, finally acknowledging the slowing beat of her heart, the hot, damp blood trickling from the bite mark on her thigh. The room started to dim, going unfocused and grey. "How does it feel, little princess? To know you're about to die at the hands of someone you trust?" He dipped his head, running a teasing lick of his tongue along her throat. "Of someone you love?"

The tears began to fall down her face. It was no more than she'd done to him, crudely and cruelly taking his life. Only Wormwood's intervention had stopped her. Cedric would have died and she would have luxuriated in it, drunk on his blood.

He pressed a soft kiss just below her ear, whispering, "Admit it, part of you knows you deserve this."

Sofia closed her eyes, no longer fighting. She did deserved it, for what she did. She raised a hand, but only to slide it into the back of his hair, wanting some memento of tenderness even as she was about to die at his hands. There would be no reprieve this time, no coming back from the dead. She would simply be gone, her life absorbed into him.

She felt the tendons in his neck stiffen and she braced herself for the strike.

His lips moved against her neck, opening wide. Teeth broke through her skin, bringing razor-sharp pain -

Sofia woke with a cry, sitting straight up in bed. Her chest heaved as she gulped in deep drags of air, flying a hand to her neck. There was nothing there. No blood. No wound. Not even a scar remained from Ashton's bite, that mark healed by the blood he'd fed her. The skin there was as smooth and unblemished. She didn't bother to check her thigh, knowing she'd find it similarly unmolested. The room was empty of anyone but her. A dream- _a nightmare-_

She trembled in the dark, trying hard to forget the memory of Cedric turned into a monster- like Ashton, like her before the doctor healed her.

Her pulse pounded hard enough to make her head ache and she knew sleep was an impossibility now. Even if she could fall back to sleep, she feared what she'd see in her dreams. The blankets had twined about her legs in her thrashing. She struggled to throw them off, climbing away from the bed. Looking back, she half expected to see blood staining the pillow and sheets. She turned away, pacing to the windows. The space between her legs ached like a bruise and she tried to ignore the discomforting feeling.

As she finally began to calm, she couldn't get the image of Cedric, standing whole and healthy, out of her mind. The nightmare had been horrible, but she longed to see him awake.

Restlessly, she threw a robe on over her nightgown, wrestling with her conscience for several long moments. She tried to talk herself out of what she was about to do, deeming it a terrible idea. Nevertheless, she knew she had to. Just a peek, she promised, shuffling into a pair of slippers. Just one quick look to assure herself that Cedric remained _alive_ , even if he wasn't conscious yet.

The castle halls were dark and quiet. Outside the windows she saw several guards patrolling that hadn't been there before. Silently, she snuck down the hall to the guest quarters, feeling as guilty as a thief. It took nearly ten minute of deliberation before she could make herself open the door. Certain she'd find Winifred at her son's bedside, pinning her with an accusing glare, demanding to know what she was doing sneaking into his room in the middle of the night, Sofia breathed a sigh of relief at finding the room mercifully empty. Only Cedric lay on the bed, exactly as she'd seen him before, and Wormwood slept on his post with his head tucked under his wing. She shut the door carefully behind her, making as little noise as possible. She didn't wish to cause a scene, just to lay eyes upon the sleeping sorcerer, to know that his heart still beat, strong and human. She tiptoed silently to his side, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Now that she'd had her look, she couldn't seem to make herself turn away. Against her better judgment, she sat down on the bed beside him.

Cedric didn't even stir and she realized how animated he usually was, always moving about, full of energy. To see him so still was downright disturbing. Tentatively, she reached out, brushing a lock of hair back from his brow. She'd never dare to touch him like this if he were awake. He'd probably never stand for it, and she felt slightly guilty taking advantage of his incapacitated state to touch him as she often desired to do. She couldn't resist tracing a few of the symbols inked upon his shoulder. His skin was warm beneath her touch and she allowed her hand to trail over his chest, feeling his heart beat strongly against her palm. He was certainly alive, though he lay still as death, like a character in a fairytale. She licked her lips, knowing it was silly to hope. Stupid, even. Stealing a glance at Wormwood to assure the bird was in fact sleeping, she leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to Cedric's mouth, hoping against hope to feel him respond.

He didn't, and only lay as still as ever beneath her. Tears of dashed hope filled her eyes. "Please, Cedric," she pleaded soft enough to not disturb the sleeping raven in the room. "Please, you have to wake up."

He slept on. Sofia lowered her head, laying her cheek against his shoulder and gave herself over the sadness, the shame, the fear, and the despair. Tears flowed silent and free down her cheeks, sliding off to wet the strange tattoo emblazoned across his skin. She sobbed until she had nothing left, and there she fell into the exhausted sleep of oblivion.

* * *

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this. You can thank Mr. Shortman92. Something about his last review sparked a renewed interest in this story. :D

Shameless plug: Go right now and read Give Me Your Riches by mcdadeholly. It is amazing! And if anyone wanted to see an eventual end to Intoxication,, you can thank her. She's helped me work through all my whiney little fears and doubts, not to mention offering helpful suggestions. As well as encouraging me to play around with things like vampires and magic. Thank you, my friend! :D


	4. Lover Mine: Alternate Ending

_**Rating: T**_

Author's Note: Sorry I haven't posted lately. Life and whatnot knocked my off the creative track for a few weeks. I hope to have the ending of Lover Mine out soon, and then concentrating on Intoxication. I thought I'd put out some little bits in the meantime.

* * *

Bits and Pieces: Lover Mine Alternate Ending Scenes

* * *

( _A little bit of explanation to better understand each scene: One of the original endings I considered for Lover Mine was that, once Sofia confesses that she cast the spell creating Cedric's dreams, he gets very upset and angry because he feels his privacy has been violated. In that version, when Sofia mentions that there is a spell to end the dreams, he angrily demands she perform it and stalks away. Later that night, he awoken, not by a dream, but by Baileywick knocking on his door, telling him he must come because Princess Sofia is suffering some illness or injury. Severing the spell (those dire consequences Marla hinted at) caused some detrimental break in Sofia's mind, throwing her into extreme pain. Cedric feels the pain as well and it intensifies the closer he gets to her. Once he sees her suffering, he realizes how much he loves her and sets out to correct what he did. I had planned a scene where he goes to Marla and Lucinda's house where the witch gives him an ingredient list for a potion that will heal Sofia. One of the ingredients he needs is fairy dust.)_

Fairy Dust was rare, hard to obtain, and prohibitively expensive. The king would surely pay any amount to obtain it, but Cedric would have to find an apothecary with some in stock first, which would take more time than he cared to waste. He did know someone who kept the rare element on hand at all times, but he _really_ didn't want to ask her.

Using the portrait in his tower to travel to his parent's house, there was another similar portrait connected to Cordelia's home. He poked his head through the magic portal, glancing up and down the gaudy marble hallway.

"Hello?" He called, voice echoing.

Footsteps approached, then Calista popped her head around the corner of a doorway. "Uncle Ceddy?"

He stepped fully through the portrait. "Hello, Calista, can you tell me where your mother is? It's important."

She lead him through a maze of hallways and carpeted parlors before finding Cordelia lounging in a chair, having her nails painted by a servant girl.

"Cedric?" Cordelia's brow raised, openly surprised by her brother's appearance.

"I need Fairy Dust for a potion."

Her featured hardened in annoyance. "So go get some."

"Do not play games with me, Cordelia. I haven't the time. I know you keep a ready supply on hand for your damn beauty regiments. Where is it?"

She stared, assessing his tense posture and forceful tone. "You said you need it for a potion. What potion exactly?"

He rubbed a hand over his tired face knowing he'd never get anywhere with her by making blind demands. As succinctly as possible he relayed the most pertinent facts of Sofia's plight. As she listened, the conjurer shooed the servant away, examining her newly lacquered nails.

"Figures," she drawled, "I should have guessed you'd only debase yourself to me for her."

"Cordelia," he growled, ready to throttle the smug look off her face. "I swear if-"

"Calm down," she sighed, "I'll help you."

The air seemed to deflate from his lungs, along with his anger. "You will?"

"Why, little brother, you wound me. Calista, Honey, back to your studies please." She stood, sauntering out of the room, leaving him to follow.

Calista threw a quick hug around his neck. "I know you can save Sofia, Uncle Ceddy. If anyone can, it's you."

His niece bounded off and he hurried after his sister, fearing he'd be lost in the monstrosity she called a home if he lost sight of her. Her personal chambers were immense, probably able to fit his entire tower inside her spacious bedroom alone. She drew a wand from her sleeve, tapping a perfectly boring looking portrait of a vase of roses. The painting vanished, revealing a hidden cubby. From inside she retrieved an ornate box. "How much to you need?"

He pulled a corked vial from his pocket, handing it to her.

She took it, groaning at the amount of precious dust. "You had better _really_ love this girl."

He sighed heavily. "I do."

She paused in measuring out the glittering powder. "Does she love you back?"

"Yes, she does. Though I can't for the life of me figure out why."

A strange look lit her eyes when she asked, " An bhfuil sé fiú é? ( _Is it worth it?_ )"

"So far all I've done is fuck things up. I rejected her advances, broke her heart, and drove her to performing desperate magic that caused a break in her psyche. But, yes, she's worth it. Even if she wants nothing to do with me after this ... tá sí fiú é ( _she is worth it_.)"

Cordelia finished filling the vial, oddly quiet. Her opinion had never mattered much to him, but so thrown out of his element he found himself dreading her disapproval. He accepted the vial from her, corking it carefully. "Do you disapprove? Father does."

Subtle lines etched her mouth as she frowned. "How could I disapprove? You'll marry better than I ever did."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. The truth is, I'm jealous."

"That'll I could marry better than you did?"

"No," she smiled sadly at him, "That you have someone to love you so much. And I know she does."

* * *

( _Just a little scene I wrote thinking on Cedric administering the potion to Sofia while he is also suffering from the pain of their broken connection.)_

His hand shook and he tried not to spill a drop as he pressed the vial to her mouth. The pain was blinding, leaving him squinting. When the last drop passed her lips, he buried his face into the crook of his arm against the bed, every muscle seizing again the pain that threatened to split his skull in two. He groped blindly with his free hand, finding her fingers and griping them tightly. As great as the pain was, touching her felt good.

* * *

 _(Cedric falls asleep in the chair beside Sofia's bed, waiting for her to recover. He wakes up to this:)_

"Cedric."

"Mmm," he grunted, not the least bit inclined to be called into waking.

A feminine giggle tickled his ear. "Cedric," the soft, silky voice called again, this time accompanied by a warm, delicate hand upon his shoulder.

Regretfully, he blinked his eyes open, finding a vision in white surrounded by a gauzy veil of auburn hair. "Sofia?" He mumbled.

She smiled, radiant, but he was hard pressed to see it as her bent over posture afforded him a rather enticing view down the front of her night dress. His eyes roamed her form with indolent grace, realizing belatedly that she was standing before him whole and sound. Without thought he moved his hands to her waist, drawing her down onto his lap. Once there he buried his face in her curls, breathing in her lavender scent. He hugged her so tightly his shoulders ached, but he couldn't seem to press her warm body close enough against his, assuring himself that she was alright. She laughed softly against his hair, twining her arms about his shoulders.

He pressed his lips to the pulse beneath her jaw, feeling weak with relief, marveling that she was in his arms. Her breathy laugh turned into a breathless moan. Encouraged, he etched a trail of kisses up her jaw, over her chin before finally touching her lips. There he paused, taking painstaking care to memorize every contour and detail, stroking his lips across hers with light brushes before growing bolder. She opened to him, tasting his tongue with her own and it was his turn to groan back in his throat.

He sank back against the chair, long legs sprawled before him as she perched sideways on his lap. "These dreams will be the death of me."

She giggled again, all blushing innocence and charm; even when she shifted one of her legs over both of his, straddling him. Her fingers combed through his hair, making his eyes roll back. "Cedric," she whispered between one sweet kiss and another, "This isn't a dream."

* * *

Author's note: So those are my alternate scene for Lover Mine. I seriously considered pursuing this ending , but at the end of the day I (obviously) went another direction. I felt I had to force Cedric's anger just a little too much to justify this ending. But I did love the scene between Cedric and Cordelia.


	5. Unspoken

**Rating: T**

Author's Note: Sorry I don't have an update for Revelry ready just yet. I found this little bit lurking in the back of a notebook. No plans to place it in any story. For context, Sofia is twenty-ish in this scene

* * *

Unspoken

* * *

"Not so tight Violet, please."

"I'm sorry, My Lady, but the blue velvet won't fit if I don't cinch you down another two inches."

The princess pursed her lips in thought. "What about the yellow organza one? I feel I can hardly breathe as it is."

Their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror, and for a moment it appeared as if the maid might have something to say. She must have thought better of it, as she dipped her head in acknowledgement. "The yellow will do nicely. And look quite fine with your sapphire jewels."

Sofia couldn't help the silent look of gratitude that filled her face. As Violet went to retrieve the requested gown, the princess surveyed her figure in the mirror. The damnable corset felt doubly tight and squeezed her poor breasts, which seemed to ache more each passing day. She sighed, wishing she could leave off the torturous garment altogether, but that Violet would not stand for. Not without a good explanation.

The chambermaid returned, dropping the saffron dyed gown over the princess's head before doing up a row of tiny buttons at the back. The fabric pulled a little across her waist, but not so much to fear a tear.

Violet fussed absently with the hem. "My Lady ..."

"Yes? What is it?"

"It's just that—" The words came slowly, as she took great care in choose them when addressing her long-time royal charge. "I've noticed the bedding hasn't been changed in sometime. Shall I do so today?"

"Um, yes," Sofia answered just as carefully, meeting Violet's worried eyes in the mirror. "If you could, please. Thank you."

The older woman offered a tight, sad smile of understanding and said no more. She didn't have to, Sofia knew what had passed unspoken between them. Her linens hadn't needed changing because her monthly courses had been absent these past six weeks. Her time of the month had come and gone without a drop of blood to mar her pristine under things. If anyone would know, her personal maid would.

As Violet stripped the spotless sheets from the bed, Sofia gazed into the mirror, laying hand against the yet flat pane of her abdomen, wondering: How long before a loose gown would no longer hide the truth?"

* * *

Author's Note: Revelry update soon. And Thirst will be coming out soon as its own stand alone story.


	6. Fairy Wings

Rating: T

Author's Note: The cleaning out of notebooks continues ... I once had an idea to write a story about Cedric's sexual exploits, ending years down the line with him falling in love with a grown Sofia. I only got as far as writing this funny little scene of (virgin) Cedric stuttering over a fairy woman. Ultimately I never wrote the story because I didn't think many of my readers would be that interested in reading scene involving Cedric sleeping with a bunch of other women. Also, I just wasn't that invested in the idea.

* * *

Fairy Wings and Other Things

* * *

The door banged loudly off the wall, prompting Cedric to fumble the beaker of carefully collected troll sweat. Instead of a drop, the entire contents fell into the cauldron, and he watched helplessly as six hours of hard potion work went up in a puff of smoke. The beaker slammed down on the tabletop with a thud as his shoulders drew up around his ears. With a frustrated growl, he swiveled on his stool, knowing exactly who possessed the ill grace to disturb him without the decency of knocking.

"Princess," he snarled in an oily cadence that barely contained his distaste for the girl, "What have I said abo- about ..." He trailed off, eyes going wide at the sight that greeted him.

Eight year old Sofia stood just inside the door, her customary lavender gown dirtied, making the amulet of Avalor shine brighter by comparison. But it wasn't the precocious princess that caught his attention, nor her coveted trinket. By her side stood the loveliest creature he'd ever seen. Woman, not creature, though she wasn't human judging by the gossamer wings laying sedately down her back. Her flaxen hair trailed over her shoulders in silky waves and her skin glowed with an internal light. Many women of means, his sister included, spent a king's ransom on products to make their complexion flawless, but this woman's natural luster made every mortal pale by comparison.

He blinked in rapid secession, flustered, because besides her ethereal beauty, she was also wearing the scantest amount of clothing he'd ever seen on a woman. Her leaf green dress covered the essentials, but just barely.

"Sorry to bother you, Mister Cedric," the princess uttered rapidly, obviously prepared for his disapproval and trying to compensate for it, "But I need your help. You see, my new friend Meru— She's a fairy, if you couldn't tell— she broke her wing, and I was wondering if you had a spell to fix it."

He barely registered the girl's words, as if hearing her voice echoing from down a long hallway. The fairy smiled at him. He gaped like an idiot, and continued to sputter.

"Mister Cedric?" Sofia asked, becoming concerned.

"What?" He snapped to, shaking his head. "Yes. Right. Fairy. B- b- broken wing you said?"

"Yes." The fairy— Meru was it?— took a step forward. Her voice drifted over him like a spring wind whispering through the reeds of a pond, soft and sweet. He tried to keep his seat and not melt into a puddle on the floor. She turned around, showing him, presumably her wings, though his eyes flew to her barley covered, and delectably curved backside. Then his eyes flew back up again, as the remembered the other person in the room.

Sofia. A child. _Right, keep it together, Cedric_.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound professional as he leaned forward to examine the tear running three-quarters of the way across her top, right wing. "Yes, that is a torn wing." _Brilliant deduction, you moron._ "But, wait, I thought fairies were small things. Little people."

"We are." Meru looked over her shoulder, blinking her doe-like eyes at him. He managed valiantly not to whimper. "My people are quite small, but Princess Sofia thought it would be easier to fix my wing if I was big."

He raised his eyebrow, finally gaining enough interest to lose focus of her incredibly short dress and the effect it was having on him. "You have magic to make yourself big, but not to heal your wing?"

Meru traded a look with the young princess.

"It's not important," the girl chuckled, uneasy.

He looked at the princess, finding her attempt at lying unconvincing at best. Peering at the amulet, he wondered once again what powers it possessed.

"We fairies cannot fix a broken wing." Meru's lashes flutter as her whisper soft voice washed over him, diverting his attention completely. "If a fairy breaks their wing, they can no longer fly. There is only one instance on record of a healed wing, and this is not an option as it takes twin magic. I have no twin."

"And what of fairy dust? Doesn't that make you fly, or float or something?"

She shook her head sadly. "Even so, it will not work. Sofia thought you might have some magic that would help me."

She stared down at him with hope in her eyes. He realized they were violet in color. "Of- of course I'll help you," he found himself uttering, though he knew of no such spell.

The look in her eyes was worth it, as the fairy woman spun around and hugged, making him aware of her subtle curves against him, even through his robes. "Yes, well," he uttered distantly, his voice going embarrassingly high, "I am the world's greatest sorcerer, you know."

* * *

Author's Note: That's as far as I got. The idea was that he would find a way to fix her wing (did you catch the reference to Tinkerbell: Secret of the Wings? And can someone tell me how fairies can't fly without fairy dust, but they can't fly with a broken wing even if they have fairy dust. So confusing. :P). Meru thanks him by taking him to bed (I swear it didn't sound so skeevy in my head. It was all very "fairies are earth, sensual creatures who would see the exchange of pleasure as the highest form of gratitude" sort of thing.) Cedric half fall in love with her, but she tell him he will not meet his true love for another 10 years. Thus in between he has several humorous affairs with characters including Miss Elodie (who shows up in Revelry, by the way), Marla (Lucinda's mom), Gwen (gizmo Gwen), and an apothecary shop girl that he nearly marries. All the while Sofia falls head over heels in love with him as she grows into maturity. Eventually he realizes what Meru meant when he told him he'd have to wait 10 years to meet his true love was that it would take that long for him to see Sofia that way. Confession, love, sex (but different from all the other sex because now he's in love). All that fun stuff. An interesting premise, but at the rate I write, I just didn't feel it was worth the effort.

I found my notes and put them below, if anyone is interested in reading how I had planned to outline the story.

* * *

Story Outline

Fairy - injured wing, brought home by Sofia (age 8) for care. Cedric (age 22) heals her wing. She repays him with a "gift". Significance is that she is the first woman he has sex with. She is on top, guiding him. He does very little except concentrate on not going off too soon. She basically gets herself off on him. Having had an orgasm, she says he's given her another "gift" so she will give him something as well. She tells him that there is a great love in his future but he will have to wait a long time to achieve it.

Miss Elodie, Royal Prep theater teacher. Sofia (age 9), Amber and James have a play (same one from Sidekick Cleo episode). Cedric helps with the special effects. Elodie is impressed. Comes on to him. At first he's clueless to her attention, taking for granted that women don't find him attractive. (She's in later episodes, might work to have her coming on to Cedric at a later time, remembering him). Cedric realizes she's coming on to him, not sure what to do. He tries to invite her on a date, but she's not interested. She's practical about being physically attracted to him, propositions him. Flustered, he agrees. At her residence, she produces a list for him to follow. He doesn't mind much as he doesn't really know what he's doing. The next morning he wakes up to find her naked, doing yoga. She suggests he should try it as building core strength will help him last longer in bed. She reveals that she "faked it", being in drama and all. Rather than crawling away in embarrassment, he becomes irritated. She allows him another shot. She rates him based on performance, and says he has room for improvement, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. Invites him to meet again for more "rehearsal".

Elodie things last for a few weeks, but she tires of him and he's not too upset as she starts to really irritate his nerves. Months after, when Sofia is 10, he chaperones her to some event with the witches. There he meets Marla, Lucinda's mother. They have a mutual animosity as sorcerer and witch. Being a spring festival, though, Cedric is completely unprepared for Marla to try to seduce him. She tells him its due diligence to the god and goddess and she finds him not completely objectionable. She goes down on him, but when she expects the same, he admits he's never done that. Marla laments the prudery of the sorcerers and their haughty learning. Witches and warlocks give their young men and women proper initiation into the divine rights. She instructs him on what to do. He finds he really likes doing it. The next morning he has to wake her up before the kids get up. She makes a tea from a jar marked poison. He stops her, but she tells him that it's really an herb to prevent pregnancy, she labels it that way to keep Lucinda out. He's mystified by an herb he doesn't know. They argue over potion making. Marla informs him this was a one-night stand.

Brief relationship with Gwen the inventor, but they don't agree on several points and they eventually split. (Sofia age 12, Cedric age 26, Gwen 22) But he learns that relationships require compromise and being less selfish. Feels bad he wasn't able to do that for Gwen. They did bond over other people not believing in them when things go wrong and wanting their fathers' approval.

After Gwen, Cedric decides that relationships maybe aren't for him. Has a series of brief affairs.

When Sofia is 16 she walks in on him with a maid in the middle of having sex. She's incredibly embarrassed. Talks to her mom, wondering if Cedric and Isotta are going to be married. Miranda has to explain that not everyone who sleeps together gets married. not everyone who has sex is in love. Sofia wonders that Cedric can sleep with women he doesn't love. She always assumed love was involved. She later over hears some maids talking about Cedric. He's good in bed, but emotionally unavailable. It's hinted that he's hurt a few feelings by not caring about the woman in question.

When Sofia is almost 18 Cedric starts seriously dating a young woman from the village who works in the apothecary shop. (She won't have sex with Cedric, just fools around enough to placate him. Claims she's saving herself for marriage.) They date for a year before Cedric feels he should propose, though he isn't sure he loves her. Walks in on her cheating on him. He's not that upset, but hexes the man just the same. Returns to the castle where queen Miranda asks him how it went. he tells her what happened, then confides the prophecy the fairy told him, that he'd have a long time to wait for his true love. it's been ten years and he thought he'd waited enough. He's 32 now and assumed he'd be settled, not starting over from scratch. Sofia comes in, obviously relieves to hear he's no longer with the shop girl. Miranda starts to wonder about the two of them, but sees no inappropriate response from Cedric towards Sofia, but realizes Sofia is in love with him and he has no idea.


	7. Lessons in Patience

**Rating: M**

Author's Note: Recently I was reading The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan. It's written entirely in the first person by the male protagonist. I got a little inspire to try my hand at first person pov. These are Cedric's thoughts during the first time having sex with Sofia.

As always, Sofia is a grown woman. At least 18+ and all that.

* * *

Lessons in Patience

* * *

My mind slid off into an animal plane. No thoughts. Just feelings, bludgeoning consciousness into submission, howling for the raw, selfish indulgence of thrust. I beat it back, grounding the corporeal to the cerebral with a rare show of will. Sofia whimpered beneath me, her eyes screwed tightly shut, mouth set in a grim line of pain. The picture of seduction she was not.

The cusp of ecstasy receded reluctantly, shoved to the back of my mind kicking and screaming, shouting, " _Move you rotten fucking bastard! Thrust and fuck and take!_ " The desire not just to have but to _conquer_ reared unbidden.

 _Wait, wait_ , soothed the calm, still core of my oft ignored conscience. If I moved now, the enjoyment would be mine alone, and at her expense. _Fuck_ , snarled the throbbing voice of my cock, waiting impatiently to have his due. Her core pulsed, strangulating. Contractions of pain bore a striking resemblance to those of pleasure, making it hard to recall why I was holding so still with such velvety perfection wrapped around my needy erection.

"Breath," I instructed, to her or myself, I wasn't sure. Regardless, she took a wavering breath, trusting me as if I had a single fucking clue what it felt like to be a virgin maiden viciously split by the unforgiving insistence of a blunt cock.

She took a second, trembling breath, eyes dewy with languorous trust. _Don't_ , I wanted to tell her. _Don't place your trust in me. I can barely trust myself_. We were, at that moment, the very definition of the blind leading the blind _. Learning together, how quaint_. But since I was the one, apparently, in charge, the thought quickly dissolved into _how utterly fucking terrifying_!

One last, long, deep breath brought her back to equilibrium. Her expression softened, morphed from pain into something akin to wonder. She blinked, sighed, wrapped her arms around my back and may as well have ripped my heart out with the same gesture. With one careless, soft sound, one thoughtless caress, she _owned_ me.

Her legs shifted up around my hips, offering a subtle deeper intrusion, and fuck—

 _Fuck!_

My head dropped to her chest, a helpless groan tumbling out before I could do so much as think of pushing it back. I couldn't help one slow, luxurious withdraw and an equally languorous thrust back in.

Sofia moaned.

That softly broken sound was a glorious solo in its own, but when joined by the concert of her biting nails, tightening thighs and squeezing wet sheath, she was utterly irresistible. Fuck—

 _Fuck._

"Are you okay?" I managed to croak around constricted lungs, less a chivalrous concern for her comfort and more a desperate plea. _Please, please, I need— I want— Tell me you're alright. Tell me I can move. I need to move!_

Fingertips as soft as rose petals traced the ridge of my furrowed brown, easing the tension there. As in every aspect of our lives, she soothed me in a way no one else could. I swallowed thickly, forcing back the uncomfortable suspicion that I may have _groomed_ her for this. Over years, since before anything like lust or love ever entered my mind, had my insistent neediness ever given her a hope of focusing all her love on anyone else? The uncommon feeling of guilt curled in my stomach where it burned like poison. She tipped her lips up, took mine in a kiss rife with innocence, unconsciously twisting the knife deeper in my heart, my gut, my groin. My body was in a riot, conflict paving the way for thought and reason to sneak back in, along with doubt. But then her tongue licked out, flicking against my mouth in one wanton caress, sweeping aside everything that wasn't immediate and selfish. I gathered her tightly to my chest, thrust my tongue deep between her lips and began to rock my hips against hers in a slow, possessive rhythm.

 _Finally!_ My cock growled in triumph. My heart still throbbed with a curiously pleasant, painful ache, but the guilt shriveled, peeling back from metastasizing itself to every corner of my inners. Shrank, but didn't disappear. It would be waiting, ready to extract its due when the brief, bright respite of ecstasy was done. The certainty of its tireless patience should have been worrisome, but then Sofia moaned again, this time low and deep, and fuck—

 _Fuck …_

She was all that mattered. All that existed for me in that moment.A perfect amalgamation of flush and pant and grasp and _take_.

All the rest could wait, crumbling to dust, as I lost myself in the inexorable feeling of being one with perfection.

* * *

Author's Note: How'd I do for my first attempt at first person? And, don't worry, this didn't take any attention away from working on Revelry. I've been busy the past few days without much time to write. This was already on my computer and pretty much ready to go. Keep your fingers crossed that Revelry editing won't take me too long and that life gives me some free time to work on it.

Thank you so much for all your reviews, support and just all-around awesomeness!


	8. The Second Task

Rating: K+

Author's Note: As much as I would love to write this story, I really don't think it will ever happen. This is a scene from a story idea I had where due to some archaic law Sofia must choose a fiancé by the age of twenty. She doesn't want to, and asks her Aunt Tilly how she avoided being pushed into a forced marriage. Tilly tells her that there is a loophole to the law that she and a friend exploited. They made a pact that he would act as her fiancé for the one-year required courtship and at the end they would claim to have fallen out of love and part ways and Tilly would no longer be subject to the law. Sofia thinks it's a brilliant solution, but Tilly warns her that her father, King Roland I, realized he was tricked by his daughter and amended the law. If the genuine intention of the intended is in question, the king can require the suitor to perform three tasks to prove his/her devotion. If the intended pair is deemed fraudulent, the engagement will be dissolved and the prince or princess will be forced to choose a new suitor. Sofia is unsure what to do.

At the ceremony where she must name her chosen suitor, several said-suitors line up expecting to be picked, she panics and names her (completely platonic) friend, Cedric. (This is not an AU. Cedric is still himself, older royal sorcerer and all.) Cedric is stunned, and a little miffed, but when Sofia pleads with him to play along, he goes along with the charade. Of course, Roland is suspicious and so over the course of a year Cedric is not only forced to attend several social functions as Sofia's potential future husband (which are awkward and socially painful for him), but he also has to perform three feats to "prove his love" for Sofia. (These tasks take place months apart, not all at once.) His conspirators throughout these ordeals are Sofia, of course, and Tilly, providing insider information on how best to fool the gentry. The first task, he (obvious for him) chooses to perform some feat of magic, which he is successful at. But then, just before the second task, Roland privately tells him that he cannot rest on performing magic tricks for the final two tasks, he'll have to think of something else. So, this is the scene of the second task where, having been put on the spot by Roland, he's forced to unveil a hidden talent. This is also, subsequently, when Sofia starts to realize her feeling towards him are changing.

The setting is an evening party with an assemblage of fellow royalty and high-ranking nobles in the grand ballroom. The Enchancia royal family are seated at their thrones on the head dais. As I mentioned above, Sofia is twenty years old. Amber and James are twenty-one. (Both the twins are engaged to their own fiancés. I never went so far as to work out who they were.)

The song lyrics written here are Drop in the Ocean as performed by Ron Pope. I highly recommend listening to the song during this scene. If you look on youtube, find the Live at Flux Studio video in black and white where it's just him singing while playing the piano. Some of the lyrics are obviously non-Sofia-verse, but I didn't go so far as to change them (i.e. exchanging the word "train" for "carriage" or something like that). Enjoy. :)

* * *

The Second Task

* * *

Baileywick supervised as four footmen wheeled a grand piano to the center of the floor. Speculative whispers hummed through the crowd. Sofia tried to keep her face serene, as if everything was according to plan. Perhaps it was; she just wished she knew what that plan entailed.

James leaned forward, looking past their parents to catch her eye. "Cedric's giving you a piano?"

"I hope not," their father remarked dryly, "considering that's the piano from _our_ music room."

"Perhaps it's a performance," her mother offered. "Does Cedric play?"

Sofia shrugged, unable to answer otherwise. Did Cedric know how to play the piano? He'd never said anything, but then she'd never asked. She had very little knowledge about any talents he might possess outside of sorcery and biting sarcasm.

When the man himself entered the room, looking extremely nervous, Sofia quickly caught the eye of her Aunt. Tilly shook her head communicating that she didn't have any more information than Sofia about what was happening. Cedric sat at the bench, gazing at the keys with a vaguely suspicious expression, as if he expected them to bite him. He wiped his hands across the thighs of his pants and it was then Sofia noticed the absence of his customary fingerless gloves. Without them his fingers looked longer than she realized, his hands larger, but still slender and delicate. The words fine-boned came to mind. Elegance written in his blood. He set his hands against the keys.

A set of tentatively touched keys strokes cut through the low hum of the crowd as he tested the tuning. He played a few cords seemingly at random before hitting a distinctly sour note that made her cringe. He cringed too, flexing his hands to loosen them. He could play, it would seem, but she wondered how long it had been; he appeared out of practice. Sofia's pulse jumped to her throat. A knot of white hot nerves twisted in her stomach, the familiar guilt for drawing him into this charade against his will. She watched as he paused to crack his knuckles before setting his hands into a final, ready position.

At a nod from Cedric, Baileywick stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, you are here tonight to bear witness to the second task of one Mister Cedric the Sensation, Royal Sorcerer and Champion of the Kingdom of Enchancia in his courtship of Princess Sofia the First. As a token of his dedication and affection, tonight Cedric wishes to present a performance not of magic, but of music." The steward bowed to the king. At the smallest raise of Roland's fingers, motioning his approval to proceed, Baileywick stood tall again. "Mister Cedric, you may proceed."

The assembly fell into silence, broken by the occasional smothered cough or soft rustle of skirt. Sofia dug her into the arm of her throne, nerves vibrating.

Cedric paused, taking a last deep breath before his fingers moved and a few tentative notes shivered to life, filling the yawning silence. The large room was designed well for just such performances and the acoustics reverberated for all to hear. Sofia relaxed fractionally, realizing he could play after all. As she watched, he drew in a breath, opened his mouth, and out came the most surprising thing.

Cedric began to sing, his voice soft, but clear:

 _A drop in the ocean  
A change in the weather  
I was praying that you and me might end up together  
It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert  
But I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven_

Chills ran down her arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. His voice was unexpectedly beautiful, a clear, strong alto complimented by the notes of the piano, rather than overwhelmed by them. He played flawlessly, his eyes closed, only opening occasionally to peek at the keys as his voice gained strength.

 _I don't wanna waste the weekend  
If you don't love me, pretend  
A few more hours then it's time to go_

 _As my train rolls down the east coast I wonder how you'll keep warm_  
 _It's too late to cry_  
 _Too broken to move on_

Sofia sat forward, her eyes sweeping the crowd, sharply aware of their jaded opinions, but all she saw was her own mirrored awe.

 _And still I can't let you be_  
 _Most nights I hardly sleep_  
 _Don't take what you don't need from me_

 _It's just a drop in the ocean_  
 _A change in the weather_  
 _I was praying that you and me might end up together_  
 _It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert_  
 _But I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven_

Aunt Tilly leaned close, whispering in her ear, "Did you know he could sing?"

Sofia shook her head numbly. No, she hadn't known. There was so much about him that she didn't know, she was realizing. Cedric had an entire life outside of their friendship. She felt a sudden, selfish stab of jealousy. She wanted to _know_ him. All of him.

 _Misplaced trust in old friends_  
 _Never counting regrets_  
 _By the grace of God I do not rest at all_

 _And New England as the leaves change_  
 _The last excuse that I'll claim_  
 _I was a boy who loved a woman like a little girl_

 _And still I can't let you be_  
 _Most nights I hardly sleep_  
 _Don't take what you don't need from me_

 _It's just a drop in the ocean_  
 _A change in the weather_  
 _I was praying that you and me might end up together_  
 _It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert_  
 _But I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my..._

 _Heaven doesn't seem far away anymore_  
 _No, no_  
 _Heaven doesn't seem far away_

 _Heaven doesn't seem far away anymore_  
 _No, no_  
 _Heaven doesn't seem far away_  
 _Oh, oh_

She was on her feet before she realized, a hand pressed to her stomach, trying to smooth down the fluttering there. His voice rose to the crescendo, throbbing deep into the core of her soul.

 _It's just a drop in the ocean_  
 _A change in the weather_  
 _I was praying that you and me might end up together_  
 _It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert_  
 _But I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven_  
 _Oh, you are my heaven_

As the last note shivered into oblivion, an absolute silence rang in its absence. The guests stood, quietly stunned. Cedric cringed, afraid to open his eyes, wondering if he hadn't made a complete fool of himself. The moment ended with a quiet noise that quickly gained strength. One pair of hands clapped, slowly at first, then faster. Other joined in and the sound rose to a din echoing off the walls. Cedric opened his eyes to the stunning sight of the grand assembly applauding for him. Their faces showed not polite, bored indifference, but deeply affected emotion. Several ladies wiped away tears, unmindful of their fine satin gloves.

He stood up, a bit startled, giving a small half-embarrassed bow of gratitude and turned just in time to catch Sofia as she hurtled herself into his arms. He staggered, barely holding their combined weight as she flung her arms around his neck, tears wetting her face. She hugged herself tightly to him, sniffling into his cravat.

"Thank you, Cedric," she uttered in a breathless rush. "That was beautiful."

He cleared his throat, not sure where to put his hands before settling them careful on her back. "Yes, well …" he muttered, unsure what to say in the face of such emotion. That he'd moved her so deeply with his ballad left him somewhat adrift.

The crowd still applauded, someone, most likely James, letting out a loud wolf-whistle. Sofia pulled back just enough to look up into his face, and Cedric froze, unable to react when she surged up on her toes and set her lips against his in an impulsive kiss. The cheer of the crowd rose sharply, rife with indulgent titters of amusement.

Sofia pulled back, eyes wide with sudden recognition of what she'd done.

Cedric offered her a bemused half-smile, assuring he wasn't upset. Confused, perhaps, but not upset. Her kiss had felt … good. Too good. Carefully, he extracted himself from her embrace.

Sofia wrapped her hands around his arm, a flush painting her cheeks pink as she struggled to play her part. To remember this was only a charade.

* * *

Author's Note: I love this idea. I really would like to write a non-M rated story focused on developing a romantic relationship between Cedric and Sofia over time, but I just don't foresee having the time anytime soon. In my head, it ends with Cedric and Sofia having developed feelings for each other and when the time comes to dissolve their "charade" of an engagement both no longer want to, but are unsure of the other's feelings and desires. I imagine it ends rather sappily ever after, though. :)


	9. Revelry: Ch4 Deleted Scenes

Rating: M for suggestive themes

Author's note: Here's a few "deleted scenes" that didn't make it into the latest chapter of Revelry. These are just some directions I played around with of where Cedric and "Daphne's" conversation could have gone. Anyone remember the movie Clue? I'm reminded of the ending to that movie, with its multiple, possible routes towards a conclusion.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Four (Deleted Scenes)

* * *

Cedric's interested expression sent a pang of unknown desire through Sofia. Her top teeth bit gently into her lower lip, and was rewarded by a flash of heat through his eyes, so much more intoxicating than the drink in her hand. This charade was taking a dangerous turn, one she seemed powerless to avoid.

There was an air to him she'd glimpsed before, but rarely with such intensity. During the day, he could be surly and snide to the likes of Baileywick, ooze oily obsequiousness when her father commanded some task, though she knew he hated them, and prove sullen in private when things didn't go his way, which they often didn't. But just now, he seemed more ... human than she'd ever recognized. More mature. She realized it was because he was treating _Daphne_ like an equal, like an adult woman who could handle the unvarnished truth. And if she couldn't, then he'd blithely send her on her way towards the exit she'd been so anxious to find earlier. She must be passing the test, because he appeared to warm towards their conversation, relaxing, turning towards her, replying with understated enthusiasm.

Though his eyes took her in with a keen interest, a hint of reservation still lingered. Perhaps her nervousness was bleeding through and he could tell that she was yet undecided on the direction and purpose for their conversation. That she was unsure how far she was willing to go. The idea that Cedric wanted her like _that_ was thrilling, but she wondered how he'd feel about it if she knew she was leading him on, only to deny him at the last moment. He would be angry or pushy like the saytr? Most likely he'd feel disappointment and a bit dejection.

She was trying to rationalize her actions, she knew.

If he was nursing a broken heart, willing to pick up any stranger to assuage his loneliness, why not her? A dangerous question to ask. Even playing with the idea in her mind felt wrong. Wrong and tinged with a foreign temptation.

Her breath hitched, but it wasn't fear pounding through her veins. "Do you always celebrate Beltane this way? At the Revelry, with all its famed debauchery?"

"That is the inherent nature of the holiday, is it not?" he answered, at ease with the topic. She got the strong sense that the alcohol had a hand in his increasingly loosening countenance. "Beltane is foremost a celebration of fertility. By its very nature it is meant to celebrate the conception of new life. Though, there is no conception going on here, you can be sure of that. There are spells and potions to avoid such things. You can bet every woman here is charmed to the hilt against it."

"Are you saying," she tried chose her words carefully, "that you believe the act of conception should only be performed as a means of procreation?"

"No," he snorted, "and to proclaim so would be the highest form of hypocrisy. As you put it, this is not my first revelry. But the shine has worn off over the years. Debauchery for debauchery's sake is not as alluring as it once was. It's feel empty, is all. It's all pleasure and no purpose."

Something in his tone made her curious. She was tempted to turn to conversation towards deeper emotions, such as love, but that territory felt too dangerous. Princess Sofia could ask him, if he longed for someone to love, but stranger Daphne wasn't familiar enough to inquire after such personal emotions. Anonymity had its virtues, but it also had its limits. She sought a different track for their conversation. She hardly knew what argument to make concerning pleasure. To her, pleasure had consisted of small, child-like wonders: tasting the first strawberries with cream of the summer, the warm joy of helping a friend in need, that first soft, shy kiss Hugo dared bequeath her on her sixteenth birthday. But all those feelings were steeped in innocence. Only the few, hasty, furtive brushes of her own fingertips under her nightdress hinted at anything more.

"It seems to me," she said carefully, picking her way through this dangerous territory like broken glass underfoot, "that pleasure is a thing worth exploring. There has to be some inherent redemption in experiencing pleasure, even if it is only for pleasure's sake, as you put it."

He was trying to catch her eyes again, but she looked steadily at the polished bar top, afraid he'd see the girlish blush painting her red.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the corner of his mouth lift into a cheeky smile. "Because you are so well-versed, I am to understand, on the subject of pleasure?"

"I—" she choked, unsure how to answer a question such as that. She floundered for and answer, but was saved from supplying one when a woman sauntered up in a cloud of peacock feather, dropping onto Cedric's lap with a girlish giggle.

"Is this seat taken?" she purred, looping her arms around his neck.

* * *

Cedric stiffened when a warm body plopped itself down onto his lap, accompanied by a cloud of honeysuckle perfume. His nose wrinkled, fighting a sneeze. His mood soured with recognition. "Adaleen," he grumbled.

"Happy Beltane to you, Cedric," she smiled, pointedly ignoring his glare, and laid an impertinent kiss to the side of his neck.

Daphne stared in silence, her face twisting into an impressive mixture of horror and shock. Her eyes flew over the woman in his lap, an unquestionable light of recognition there. _Dear gods, don't tell me she's one of Addie's students._ He didn't think his old bones could withstand the onslaught.

"Oh, hello, am I in the middle of something?" Adaleen regarded the girl from over a cocked shoulder, as if she'd just noticed her presence. Daphne stiffed under the predatory, cat-like gaze. "Mmmm, this might be something I'd like to be in the middle of."

Cedric felt an unprecedented sense of protection rear up inside him. "You can stop with the dramatics, Addie. Your act isn't impressing anyone."

Unperturbed, she ran a blue lacquered nail along his jaw. Her lips hovered close to his own. Poor Daphne seemed frozen with horror.

"Oh, but, I'm serious. What do you say, Cedric? How about an encore for old time's sake? I can just see it now," Adaleen's voice dropped into a silken purr, "you, me, and your pretty new friend over there. You can even be the star of the show, if you get my meaning."

Cedric wasn't tempted, not in the least, not considering their history. "As enticing as it is to take stage direction in bed, the answer is the same as it was last time— no. Now get off me."

"You've become no fun," she pouted, doing as she was told. Turning to Daphne, Adaleen rolled her eye, adding a huff for good measure. "I wouldn't bother if you knew what was good for you. Emotionally unavailable doesn't begin to cover it with this one."

"Addie," he warned, only to be ignored.

She tapped her finger against her lips as if an idea just occurred to her, though he knew better. "Though he is good for a roll in the sack."

"Adaleen," he barked, his voice hardening with an anger that made Daphne twitch in her seat, eyes wide.

Adaleen dropped her voice into a stage whisper, one easily overheard. "I do recommend letting him go down on you. He's quite good at it."

"That's quite enough," he growled. Adaleen's eyes flashed and she licked her lips. She had always liked it on the few occasions she'd goaded him into losing his temper, such as it was. But it was her turn to be ignored. He squashed her rising desire ruthlessly. "I'm sure there's several unaware souls you can impress your script upon. Off you go."

"Yes, Sir," she replied with a mocking smile. He turned away with a sneer, knowing she thrived on the attention. She wiggled her fingers at Daphne as she minced away.

"I am terribly sorry for that. She's always had a flair for the dramatic."

"You've been intimate with her before, haven't you?" She hadn't meant to blurt out such an inelegant question, but she couldn't help herself. Cedric had slept with her drama teacher. When? Where? When had it started? She thought back to her school play her first year at royal prep, where Cedric and Miss Elodie would have met. That was eleven years ago; they could have quite the history together.

"Adaleen Elodie? Regretfully, yes."

"Why regretfully?"

He snickered, sipping his drink. "If you'd ever endure one of her dramas you'd know. That woman has a list for _everything_."

"You mean, even ..." she could say it, letting the implication hang.

"Yes," he confirmed, "And may the gods help the man that deviates from it. That's not the first threesome she'd invited me to either, except the last one I turned down had a significantly higher ratio of male to female genitalia involved."

"Oh goodness!" She slapped her hand over her mouth, feeling slightly unhinged when a hysterical giggle worked its way out of her throat.

"Yes," he drawled, seeming pleased to have made her laugh, "Not exactly my taste. Never mind that I've never been particularly good at sharing."

"Oh?" She cocked her eyebrow, feeling bold, "So, you're telling me you weren't tempted by the idea of being with two women at once?"

He had the good grace to look chagrined.

"Have you ..." and she really shouldn't ask this, "Done that before?" She examined her glass like it as the most interesting thing in the world. "Been with two women at once?"

He laughed, but in an uneasy, self-conscious kind of way, making him feel more familiar than he had all night. "Once," he admitted, "And it was something of an unmitigated disaster. As is par for my life."

She couldn't help but smirk. "Performance anxiety?"

His expression showed mock offense, the humorous glitter in his eye giving him away. "No, I'll have you know it was not performance anxiety. In fact, it wasn't my fault at all. It was another Beltane more years ago than I care to admit. One of the women had had a bit too much to drink it would seem. She got sick all over the other woman, which in turn caused her to get sick, which in turn caused me to get sick. We we're all piss drunk, mind you, but I was the best off of the three of us. I spent the remainder of the night holding back hair and vanishing puddles of vomit."

She couldn't help it, something about his unvarnished rendition seemed unabashedly hilarious. Peals of giggle rolled out from behind the hand covering her mouth.

"Yes," he hissed dryly, but she could see the slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "I'm glad my misery can amuse you."

She laughed so hard then that she snorted. "I'm sorry," she giggled, tears of mirth filling her eyes. "It's just—" It took a good few minutes before she could get a hold of herself, snickering. "Well it was very noble of you to take care of those poor women."

"Well at least I get to be noble."

* * *

(A/N: Or it could have gone something like this …)

I am terribly sorry for that. She's always had a flair for the dramatic."

"That was Miss Elodie. She was— was my dance instructor briefly, years ago." She looked vaguely ill, until her eyes hardened on him. "You've been intimate with her before."

"Regretfully, yes." He answered carefully, not caring for her accusatory tone. "Also, briefly and many years ago."

"Sorry." She let out a little sigh, relaxing. "I didn't mean that you shouldn't have been. It's just a shock seeing her behaving so differently. Why regretfully?"

"Don't misunderstand, Adaleen's a fine teacher. It was on a personal level that we didn't much get along. If you've ever endure one of her dramas, you could probably guess why. That woman has a list for _everything_."

Her eyes widened. "You mean, even ..."

"Yes," he confirmed with a conspiratorial smirk, "and may the gods help the man that deviates from it. Truthfully, it wasn't all bad between us, but ultimately we would never work."

"Why is that? I mean, you two don't seem to even like each other much. What happened?"

He cleared his throat, trying to find the appropriate words to frame the fall out between him and the drama teacher. "We are too alike, her and I."

"Too alike?" Her brows furrowed together, the picture of innocent confusion. "How is that a problem in a relationship?"

"We both liked to be in charge too much. Adaleen likes to order her men around, and I don't particularly enjoy being given orders."

Her lips parted as she seemed to understand something. He doubted she understood exactly what he meant, so he felt he should elaborate.

"More than that, I rather prefer to be the one in charge ... under certain circumstances."

Her pretty mouth formed an O of surprise as slowly dawning comprehension brightened her face with a pleasing flush. He found himself picturing that same face beneath him, flushed with pleasure. His groin stirred, encouraged by the alcohol muddling his thoughts.

She seemed embarrassed, yes, but an embarrassment born from unfamiliarity with the subject. If anything, he'd say his proclivities heightened any interest she may have been nurturing towards him. Her sapphire eyes sparkled with desire, even if the rest of her remained uncertain.

She chewed her lips, shifting in her seat, and he felt strongly he was about to be on the receiving end of an uneasy confession. "I have thoughts sometimes." She blushed and looked away. "Fantasies of being … directed in such a way."

Cedric stayed very still, getting the impression that she was easily spooked at just this moment. He remained silent until she felt compelled to look upon him, her expression suggesting she expected censure for speaking to a strange man of such unseemly things. He didn't say anything, but rather let his bland and carefully unsurprised expression speak for itself. Not only was she not shocking him, but he preferred a woman who spoke her desires plainly. The better to give her what she wished. The more he knew of her desires the easier his task to fulfil them.

Not that he was thinking that far ahead. Not much. Maybe just a little.

At length, she finally found the courage to go on. "It's just that, much of my life, I've been looked at to be the one in charge. All my life, in fact, I've had to be responsible beyond my age. I've never minded," she was quick to add, as if he might offer some argument. "I often like to help other people, even to the point where sometimes I neglect to ask for help myself. But, sometimes, I just wish …"

She trailed off either unable or unwilling to say, so he hazarded a guess. "Sometimes you wish for someone to take care of you."

She blew out a strained breath. "You make it sound so easy. Why do I feel selfish just to think on it?"

"It's far from selfish to want someone to care for you. If anyone knows about that, it's me," he added in a mutter. "But, if you mean it feels selfish to want someone to cater to you in the bedroom, I don't see why. It's been my experience that most intimacy issues are merely a matter of finding a compatible partner. Find someone who wished to entertain your fantasy. Someone who will to take care of you. Someone willing to satisfy you."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, jilted by her suddenly intense expression.

"How do you make it sound so uncomplicated? As if it's acceptable behavior for a woman to walk up to any man and say, 'Pardon me, Sir, but would you mind indulging my every sexual whim?'"

The laughter that bubbled up from his throat was a bark of pure, unmitigated humor. She colored, most likely shocked at her own boldness, even in the theoretical. "I assure you, if you did go about propositioning strange men in such a way, there are few that would turn you down, no matter their proclivities."

She sipped her drink, unable to say more at the moment.

"But, you're right," he sobered, frowning slightly. "It is not easy. It's is largely and unfortunately a matter of trial and error. One would think that most men would enjoy pleasing a woman, but, sadly, most are out to please themselves. Or so I've been told.

"But, you seem to be forgetting where you are, and on what night. Perhaps it's not acceptable under normal circumstances for a young woman to go about blithy propositioning men, but here you'd be hard pressed to find anyone the least bit offended by the prospect. There is no shortage of proclivities to be catered to here. Wanting a man to … cater to your needs is downright pedestrian."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," she murmured, but a frown still worried her brow. "What if, though, there is more to it than that?"

"More?" His right brow rose, increasingly intrigued.

"What if I imagine more than simply being _taken care of_?"

Slowly, he formulated the question he thought she might be asking, "Do you mean you wish to be dominated?"

Her head cocked to the side, honest confusion on her face. "I don't understand."

Good gods, did her innocence know no bounds? _What was she doing here?_ He cleared his throat, trying to sound pedantic. "There is such a thing known as dominance and submission, in which one partner exhibits complete control over the other. As I understand that level of control ranges, as do the, ahem, activities they engage in, not all of them pleasurable, some even painful."

Her face twisted with suspicious doubt. "And people enjoy that?"

"Some do."

"Do you?"

He sputtered for a moment. "Not particularly, no. I mean, there does seem to be a small appeal in causing a little discomfort only because it seems to heighten pleasure by contrast. But no, I much prefer pleasure to pain, for myself and my partner. Why? Was that something you had in mind?"

She flushed anew, squirming again, giving the impression that what she wanted to say was difficult. Her voice was barely a whisper, and he had to lean in to hear her over the increasing din of the bar. "Sometimes, I think about being," she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed on, "about making a mistake, or, or doing something bad. Something worth being p-punished for."

He was thankful for the support of his stool. If he'd been standing his knees may have dropped out from under him. She really seemed to have no idea what affect her words had. Her demur blush, her berry stained lips wet with drops of alcohol that begged to be licked away. He downed the remainder of his own drink to fortify his nerves.

"And you wish someone to hurt you for these offenses?" he asked, dubious.

"No," she was quick to deny it. "Not at all. I'm not entirely sure what it is I do expect, but no, I certainly don't wish to be harmed. At least, I really don't think so."

She appeared truly confused and distressed, unsure of her desires and expectation. A dangerous combination in the wrong hands. Did that make him the right hands? Fuck, something about this woman was turning his brain into knots. There she sat, the picture of temptation, only to discover hiding beneath the soul of innocence. It's like she'd been dropped out of the heavens to torment him. She was so much like— He couldn't imagine _her_ in a place like this. But then he was having an increasingly difficult time imagining Daphne in a place like this, and she was actually there. Was it Daphne's innocence that attracted him to her, or merely the similarities to someone else? Perhaps he wasn't the most altruistic hands for her to fall into after all.

"Well," he croaked, his throat tightening along with his groin, "you've certainly come to the right place. I'm sure you could find any number of partners willing to experiment to your complete satisfaction."

She looked surprised for a moment, before her expression returned to shyly demure. She nibbled her lip in that way that made him want to bite it. "I rather thought that perhaps I had found someone."

Her lashes fluttered upward, catching him with that bright sapphire gaze that wound around his heart and squeezed it painfully tight.

In that moment, he felt strongly he should send her away. Instruct her to find the satisfaction she sought with someone else. For once it wasn't an attack of nerves, he was capable of providing what she wished, eager even to try, but something about her left him uneasy. She made him feel _guilty_.

But was there really anyone in attendance more principles than him? Perhaps, but there certainly a great deal more men less principled here, who wouldn't hesitate to slack all and any desires with her nubile body. Gods, why did he feel he was committing a crime by simply entertaining the notion? Yet entertain it he did.

* * *

(A/N: I also wrote a scene where Cedric and Daphne had left the bar area to sit in private booth.)

"Sure you don't want to call Miss Elodie back?" She smirked, needing the validation that he wanted her, just her.

"Oh, I think she's too preoccupied at the moment," he lifted a finger in the direction opposite their seats. "She seems to have found the cast members she was looking for."

She leaned forward, looking in the direction he'd indicated. The sight she saw, a confusing tangle of limbs than made her head tilt to the side trying to make sense of it all, had her leaning further forward. Her mind refocused, rearranging what she was seeing, recognizing with a shocked gasp the tangled lips and limbs of two handsome men and her former teacher.

Sofia stared with her mouth agape, a strange mixture of repugnance and allure making her stare even as she wished to turn away. She shouldn't be looking at this, she knew, but she couldn't help but wonder at the look of unabashed pleasure on the woman's face.

They disappeared behind the curtain to the ballroom.

She started, drawn abruptly back into her own body when she felt the cool touch of Cedric's fingertips against the back of her leg, just behind her knee. She gulped, blinking at him, realizing at the same moment that she'd basically put herself across his lap. Heat filled her face, warm and uncomfortable at the same time. She wasn't sure what she should do, frozen looking back at him. His fingers tickled up the back of her thigh, sliding up to the edge of her skirt before trailing back down.

"Um," she struggled to make her mouth form regular words. "Yes, she does look quite preoccupied."

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement.

"So," she stayed where she was, leaning half way over the table, kneeling on the seat, afraid to move. Afraid he'd stop. More terrified he wouldn't. "I guess it's just you and me then."

His fingers went under her skirt, brushing the ruffled edge of her obscenely short bloomers. Her lashes fluttered. "I guess so," he murmured, tracing the crease of her leg inward. "Perhaps, we should test your theory."

She couldn't speak because his hands moved to frame her waist, holding her in a secure grasp as he made her pivot, turning her so she was properly seated across his lap. Her arms went around his neck automatically as she blinked, somewhat startled. One of his hands stayed at her waist where she could feel the heat of it through her bodice. The other cupped her back just between her shoulders, bare skin touching bare skin. "And how do you presume we do that?"

His right brow raised, his subtle smirk making heat race beneath her skin. "A kiss, of course."

"Just one?"

He laugher made her flush because she knew she'd sounded dismayed at the prospect of _only_ one kiss. "I suppose that depends on how the first one goes."

His easy countenance, his humor, so foreign from his usual grumpy demeanor, drew her gaze to his lips as much as his suggestion. But she froze, locked in the trembling hope threaded with disbelief that this was really happening, that she was about to finally get that first kiss from him that she'd been dreaming of.

His lips dipped towards her mouth, and when they touched hers, they were softer than she'd expected. Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord and she couldn't help the small noise of delight that trembled in her throat. The kiss was electric, sending tingles racing all over her skin. It was everything she'd ever hope for, despite the circumstances, having the marked effect of softening her nerves.

She could lose herself in the dreamy feel of his lips, but then the kiss changed, bringing her stumbling back into the earthy sensuality of her own body. His teased her lips apart with a silky caress. When his tongue caressed her own in a swirl of wet heat, desire ricocheted through her, making her limbs leaden and her head float. Primal threads of desire suffused through her as she tilted her head, taking him deeper. She could do little more than clutch at his shoulders, uncertain what to do with her hands. It was enough trying to keep her head with him kissing her like this. A tight knot of need gathered between her thighs, making her shift closer. His hands drawing her tighter against his chest, deeper into his lap, only intensified her distress.

When he pulled away, he didn't go far. Their cozy alcove and tight embrace gave her the illusion of intimacy. He whispered, his breath tickling over her sensitive lips. "What are you doing here?"

She froze, thinking he'd finally uncovered her secret. His eyes traced her face, entranced most especially by her eyes. She managed to speak around the pulse racing in her throat. "W-what do you mean?"

"You're much too sweet for a place like this. Certainly, for someone like me, I assure you."

"Perhaps that's the problem," she whispered, weak with relief that he hadn't discovered her secret. She leaned towards his lips again, but restraining herself from breaching the last bare inch, "I've had my fill of sweetness. Maybe I want something else. Maybe I crave a little," she paused searching for the right word. The opposite of sweet was bitter, but that wasn't want he was to her. "Darkness. I want a taste of you."

She meant it metaphorically, but that didn't stop her from pushing forward, capturing his lips in another kiss, this one searing with restrained heat. _Gods_ , she'd wanted this for so long. Wanted his lips and his taste and his hands holding her tight just as they were now. His hand slid up her back, bringing shivers in its wake, cupping the back of her head, angling her for better possession by his mouth. She wiggled closer still on his lap, making him groan.

"What have you done to me?" His husky tone made her stomach clench on a hot bolt of want, and need, and _now, yes, gods_. "I could have you on this very table."

She pursed her lips, surprised by how appealing the suggestion sounded just now. But then flushed, remembering the prying, hungry eyes that watched and saw everything. The idea of some stranger watching them, getting off on voyeuristic pleasure, wasn't to her tastes it would seem. "I thought you weren't one for public displays."

"Indeed," he murmured, "but you are making me forget myself." He captured her mouth again, scattering any thoughts of protesting. When he pulled away this time she tried to follow his retreating lips. His voice was much rougher than she'd ever heard it before when he asked, "Shall we relocate then, to somewhere more private?"

Her heart pounded, realizing she still had a choice. Now was the time to offer some excuse, some polite denial. Otherwise there would be no turning back. She'd be agreeing, complicity deceiving him. His lips hovered just out of range, his warm breath fanning across her face. Was there ever really a choice at all? He was everything she'd ever wanted since she was fifteen, and her infatuation had only grown. He was offering her the one thing she couldn't deny: himself.

Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was the anonymity. Perhaps it was this night. Regardless, she knew she was seeking absolution for what she was about to do. Her strong moral compass told her clearly it was wrong.

And she was going to do it anyway.

Her breathy answer came out nearly a moan, "Yes."

* * *

Author's Note: As you can see, I had a few different directions for this last chapter and had a hard time settling on a course. It all fell together when I wrote the entire chapter from Cedric's POV. I did like throwing Miss Elodie in there in such a *ahem* sensuous role. Being the free-spirit that she is, I thought she could be one of the revelers and I've always fancied her as a past lover for Cedric ever since the Side-Kick Cleo episode.

Let me know what you think. Love you guys!


	10. Revelry: Alternate Storyline

Rating: M

Author's Note: Since my latest story post was so dismal and depressing, I decided to dredge up some sexy, fun bits for you guys. This was the original ending I wrote for Revelry. Ultimately, I changed the direction of the story because I couldn't come up with enough scenes to make a complete story for the original idea, but I still loved this ending.

Obviously, I wrote all this before the new developments in the series where Wormwood leaves Cedric. In this version, they are still master and familiar.

The first two parts are just little snippets of scenes I'd already wrote out. The third piece is an alternate lemon. ;)

* * *

Revelry: Alternate Story-line

* * *

 _A/N: This begins right after "Daphne" and Cedric have spent Beltane together. As you may remember, in the posted story Cedric goes back to his tower where Wormwood inelegantly informs our hapless sorcerer of the identity of his solstice lover. In my original idea, I had Wormwood keeping Sofia's identity to himself. Wormwood leaves a clueless Cedric to sleep off his hangover and flies out to find and confront Sofia. He finds her walking home from Lucinda's house:_

"Of course, Princess," Wormwood murmured, far too accommodating for Sofia's liking. She kept walking, making it a bare two steps before his voice rang out, clear and crisp with meaning, "Or should I call you _Daphne_?"

She spun around, eyes wide. The raven had a decidedly gloating look on his sly face. Sofia tried to swallow, but her throat had dried up. "He knows?" She managed to croak.

"Cedric?" Wormwood guffawed. "That dimwit? Of course not. But you can't fool an animal's senses, Princess. He came home _reeking_ of you."

Sofia flushed from the roots of her hairs surely down to the top of her boots. She had never taken Wormwood into account in her haphazard plan. She pushed past her embarrassment, pushing in close to where the bird perched on the fence post. "You can't tell him, please."

His eyes narrowed down to slits. "I do not need you to tell me what is best for Cedric. He's been my charge for over two decades."

Sofia stopped at that. He made it sound like of the two Wormwood was the older one, in charge of a ward.

"I'm his familiar," the raven continued. "He may have created me, but he is mine to guard and guide. I may chide him, I may even disparage him at times, but I would do nothing that would truly hurt him."

Large black wings unfurled as he took flight in a rustle of feathers and indignation. Sofia watched after his abrupt departure. She also got the distinct impression that Wormwood was _angry_ with her. She'd seen disapproval for her actions before, even disappointment, but the raven was good and truly mad at her for her deception. Had Wormwood meant he had to tell Cedric the truth, or that he wouldn't dare? Both had implications she didn't have the fortitude to contemplate at the moment. Somehow, she got the sense that it was the former.

* * *

 _A/N: In theory the story was supposed to go like this – Wormwood and Sofia both know she lied to Cedric, but Cedric has no clue that Daphne was actually Sofia. Over the next few weeks things between Cedric and Sofia are strained while Cedric pines for the unknown Daphne while Sofia alternated between pining for the man right in front of her and despairing that he's fallen for "someone else" and she can't admit that Daphne is actually her. Wormwood takes the opportunity to tease and taunt Sofia about her deception before finally growing sick of Cedric's moping and Sofia's omnipresent guilt and decided to intervene. This was a scene of him trying to impress the truth of Cedric's feelings towards the princess:_

"You saw Cedric earlier that day, had you not?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously, wondering where he was going with this line of questioning.

"And where did you tell him you were going to be that night?"

"With Lucinda, which wasn't a total lie, but also with her coven, which was a lie."

"Yes," he hissed, looking at her with a weight of meaning she didn't understand.

"So," he said at length, his lack of patience bleeding into his tone, "where did Cedric _think_ you were going to be on Beltane?"

"With Lucinda's coven," she repeated, becoming impatient herself. She still didn't get what he was driving at.

Wormwood sighed, slapping a wing over his eyes in obvious exasperation. "And I thought Cedric was thick. Think, Princess! Where did Cedric think _you_ were going to be on Beltane?"

"With Lucinda's coven," she all but shouted, becoming angry.

"Yes, and what would Cedric think you be doing with this coven?"

She shook her head, letting out a huff of frustration. But the question made her pause. Her parents expected that Marla and the witches would keep a careful watch on her. Sofia knew the gathering was harmless, so much more so than the Revelry. But what would Cedric think she was doing?

What would he think she was doing ... on Beltane ... in the woods ... with a coven of witches and collection of warlocks and other assorted pagans. She remembered his shocked expression in the village when she'd told him that her parents approved, when she emphasized that she was grown— a woman that didn't need their approval or permission. Her eyes widened.

"Yes," Wormwood sighed, seeing her finally make the connection.

Cedric's voice, pitched to a surly snarl ghosted through her memory. _"It's Beltane. What do you think she's doing?"_

"He'd think I was, well doing exactly what I did do, just with someone else. Do you mean to tell me that Cedric— That the woman he was trying to forget was …"

* * *

 _A/N: And on to the good stuff … So, with Wormwood spilling the beans, Sofia enlists his help executing a plan to finally reveal her true identity to Cedric. She has Wormwood deliver a letter to Cedric from "Daphne" saying that she (Daphne) hasn't been able to stop thinking about him and wants him to meet her back at The Burgundy Rose Inn. (Remember that "Daphne" always knew his identity, but he didn't know hers, so it makes sense that she could send him a letter.) Now here was where I ultimately couldn't quite pull off the tap dance that Cedric is eager to meet this woman that (in his mind) isn't Sofia. Theoretically, at this point I would have wanted to craft a storyline that made it feasible for Cedric to be hopeful, be it doubtful, that Daphne is Sofia. And so we raise the curtain on Cedric and Daphne, complete with blond hair and mask and Freezenburg accent, meeting for the "first time" since Beltane. Both are quite impatient for the other. Some lines you might recognize as they made their way into the final posts of Revelry. This starts a bit in medias res …_

Beneath her dress he found only bare flesh. No undergarments to impede the impatient path of his fingers up the interior of her thigh.

"So wet," he groaned, parting the slick petals of her lips. "Already?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. Wanting your hands on my skin. Wanting you inside me again."

He growled, tugging her dress down none too gently. His own clothing, she helped him peel away in the relentless pursuit for more skin.

Naked, panting and eager, she pushed him down to sit on the bed's edge. Straddling his lap, her feminine folds rubbed along the underside of his shaft making them both groaned at the friction and the heat.

"Who are you really?" he pleaded. "Tell me, please."

She stared into his hazel eyes, holding them with her own sapphire gaze. It was a risk, but one she thought worth it. "You know who I am."

She saw it then, staring so intently as she was. Recognition, followed by hope, before it was all crushed under doubt. He lowered his gaze, shaking him head, but she wouldn't relent, rolling against his heat, cradling his face in her hands for a kiss. She nodded against his mouth, lips brushing. "Yes."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up before settling her down atop his manhood. She moaned as he breached her, rocking upward before sliding back down, taking him in inch by hard, hot inch.

"Oh gods," her eyes fluttered closed as her neck tipped back, mouth open on a pleasure-filled moan. "I've wanted this for so long."

He pressed his face against her neck, kissing, breathing hard against her skin. His hand gripped her thighs. His breath hissed out, speaking in half- groan, half-prayer, " _Sofia_."

She gasped, arms tightening around his neck. His hand reached, searching for something. She felt the tap of his wand to the top of her head. " _I_ _ncantationem revelare_."

The magic slid down her spine, breaking goosebumps along her arms, zinging through all the sensitive places of her body. Her hair lengthened, tickling down to the middle of her back. He dropped his wand, burying his hand in her thick auburn locks. "Cedric," she moaned, her own voice shocking her slightly with the level of need reflected in it.

He _whimpered_ against her neck, panting with more than exertion. He kissed her skin, reverent, moving impatiently up her throat, over her chin before capturing her mouth with his. The hand in her hair held her to him, fingers tightening until she moaned from the slight pain, but it only bespoke of his passion for her. _Her_.

His fingers plucked free the ties of her mask, tearing it off, tossing it carelessly to the floor. He pulled back to look at her; she trembled from her seat on his lap, his thickness still seated inside her. He swallowed, the motion causing his throat to bob. A hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing softly. For a moment he looked at her as if caught in a spell, as if unable to believe the truth before him. Sofia raised her hand, curling her fingers around his wrist and the spell broke abruptly.

The hand that caressed her cheek slid roughly into her hair again and he used that grip to pull her into a savage kiss. Without warning he drew her to the side and down, moving over top of her. Sofia found herself on her back, Cedric hitching her leg up to cradle his hip. His sudden ferocity stole her breath. Eagerly, she wrapped her legs around him, weaving her fingers into his hair. She could barely keep track of all the emotions flowing through her.

"I wanted it to be you," he groaned, never missing a beat as his hips plunged in a strident tempo, making her gasp. "I hoped, but I didn't dare believe."

Sofia couldn't respond, limbs tightening as he worked her towards the precipice of a shattering climax. She choked on a sob of pleasure, blinking up at his face hovering over her own watching her closely.

"That's it, my darling," he breathed, "Come for me. I want to hear you."

She closed her eyes, unable to contemplate his scrutiny, knowing he was watching every flicker across her face as she came. "Cedric," she moaned out his name, long and low, her voice cracking. She arched up into him, trusting him to hold her together as she splintered apart. Uncontestable sounds of pleasure spilled from her lips, calling out with abandon.

His hips slowed, stirring her insides to a languid heat. He smoothed a damp strand of hair from her brow, kissing her cheek. Sofia panted, looking up at him, awed by the reverent look in his eyes. "You," he breathed, "have proven quite the devious, naughty girl, _Princess_."

She shivered at the way her title rolled off his tongue. "Perhaps," she paused to lick her lips, as he was still thrusting slowly in and out of her, "Perhaps you'll have to devise some manner of punishment for my transgressions, _Mister_ Cedric."

He bent his head, mouthing her ear. "I see tying you to a bed taught you nothing."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Her voice caught on a gasp as she hips raised up in a plea for more. He was working her slowly but inexorably towards that shattering precipice again. The playful banter died in her throat under the sudden need to confess. "I lied," she said whispered, prompting him to release her ear and stop the torturous tempo of his hips. He looked down on her in question. "I'd never— That is, I lied about not being a virgin. That was my first time."

He wrapped his arms about her, hugging her securely to his chest. His breath warmed her ear. "I must have hurt you. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want you to stop," she whispered honestly. "It only hurt a little, then it was wonderful."

She tipped her head up, wanting him to move again. Heat simmered in her veins. She took the edge of his ear between her teeth, nipping before breathing out in a sultry whisper. "I was telling the truth, though, when I said I haven't stopped thinking about being with you since. The other day in the garden, I wanted so badly to push you back into the ferns." He groaned, his hips beginning to rock. She went on, painting the picture of her fantasy with her words, "I imagined pulling your robes aside and tearing open the buttons of your pants. I wanted to take you in my mouth, right there."

He picked up her narrative, as she began to shake. "I'd lift your skirts, shucking off your undoubtedly expensive drawers, and slide into you just as I am now. I'd make you come screaming, right there on the grass."

She moaned, the real fantasy that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Heavy lidded, she gazed up at him with desire glazing her eyes. "Well, you have me now."

His wicked smile curled her toes. "That I do."

Without preamble, he leaned back on his knees and drew her legs open. Sofia gasped, abashed to be so exposed, but unable to care when his thumb began to draw tight circles around the bud of her clitoris. She clutched at the bedspread beneath, her body twisting with simmering pleasure that built and built. It climbed within, straining against her skin for release.

Cedric watched like a man unable to look away. "You have no idea how often I've imagined you just like this."

 _Gods, the velvety rumbled of his voice, thick with desire—_ His words wrought havoc on her mind as the undulations of his hips ravished her body. She surrendered herself completely to his mastery, abandoning any pretense of modesty or indifference. His, all she wanted to be was his.

"Ye— Gods— _Cedric_ ," she sobbed, pressing her cheek deep against the bedding as she cried out.

Her legs dropped as he leaned down over her, abandoning his own fight for patience. The vigor of his thrusts stole any breath she had left. She reached for him, her panting mouth hovered a bare inch from his own. His brow twisted in an expression bordering on pain. "Oh, my sweet Sofia," he moaned as he shuttered, surging warmly inside her.

She trembled with him as the world tilted off its axis. Dizzy and gasping for air, she welcomed the heavy weight of his slender body as he dropped down over her. Chest to chest, she counted their heartbeats, basking in softening heat of their union. The calm invited a softer hum of pleasure, but in it she sensed a certain danger of clarity.

When Cedric finally raised his head, an unreadable expression darkening his face, she bit her lip, awaiting judgment. With the heat of sex fading on their skin, she knew he might feel quite different about her deception.

"You," her growled, his voice rough, making her freeze with a shiver of fear. "You," he said again, and this time she noticed a curious tremble in his voice. His shoulders hitched, and she realized he was _laughing_. A delirious chuckle rumbled out of his throat. "You let me tie you to a bed."

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, relief making her a bit hysterical as well. She giggled. "I did, didn't I?"

"I thought for sure—" He cut off, not finishing, but she remembered the quick flash of disappointment across his face when she'd agreed to being tethered to the corners of the bed.

"You thought for sure that _I_ would never agree to such a thing."

He shrugged, the gesture telling her it was so.

She sobered, looking at him with sincere intent. "I am sorry, though, for deceiving you. I just thought you'd never— That if you knew it was me— But then Wormwood told me how you felt about me ..."

"Wormwood? What has he got to do with this?"

"He knew," she answered simply. "From the very first morning, he knew it was me. He could _smell_ me on you."

"That ungrateful, feathered bastard. But then I expect such behavior from him, but you? This is quite the shocking deception. I should be furious with you."

She bit her lip, hoping he wasn't. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" His voice dropped into an almost sneer. "You know damn well what you did was dishonest."

She pulled the sheets up to her neck, unsure what to feel. She wasn't certain how he actually felt about it. If he was merely teasing her, or if his sincere ire was indeed growing the more he thought about it.

"Oh no, you don't, you little liar." He grasped the sheets in a firm hand, drawing them off her. Before she could think he was on top of her, hips between her legs, palms planted on either side of her head. She couldn't help the tiny moan that slipped from her at having him pressed so intimately against her still tingling flesh. A smirk drew up one side of his mouth. "I believe there was talk of punishment for your _considerable_ transgression. I'll make you a bargain. You let me dole out your punishment, as I see fit, and without complaint. And we'll drop the subject and never need speak of it again."

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She knew better than anyone how Cedric could hold a grudge. "You mean you won't hold it over my head?"

"Nope, we'll consider the matter settled."

The nervous feeling didn't ease. He was being far too agreeable for her liking. "What kind of punishment?"

The laugh that kicked through his diaphragm jerked his hips against her and she hissed, the heat of his body igniting her still sensitive flesh. They'd just had sex— hot, fast, satisfying sex. How could she still be aroused? "Oh, no, I'm not telling you. You didn't tell me who you were, so I'm not telling you this."

"But," she asked carefully, perhaps, hopefully, "it does involve more sex?"

He lowered his head, running his lips along her throat in a slow caress. She shivered, her breasts tightening.

"It does," he drawled slowly, before his teeth closed over her pulse, biting gently, sucking. She cried out in startled pleasure. His hips pressed against her. He wasn't hard, but the heat of his body was more than enough to draw forth her own desire. He pulled away after a long moment. "So, do you accept my offer?"

She nodded at once, mindless, desperate. She'd do anything as long as he kept touching her. "Yes. Yes."

"Good," he purred, just before he pulled himself off of her, leaving her cold and shaking on the bed. Her eyes cut to his, confusion and hurt reflected there. He was already pulling on his pants. "I didn't say here. I want you in my own bed. Now get dressed."

He went about collecting his clothing, shrugging into his shirt and quickly doing up the buttons. Sofia swung her feet over the side of the bed, disoriented with desire, disappointed and embarrassed that he could so easily ignore her naked body when she was on fire for him. She pulled her dress on, holding the loose bodice over her breasts. The laces gapped open in the back as she searched for her underwear. Cedric had already drawn on his robes, leaving them untied and his vest unbuttoned. He shoved his tie into his pocket, picking up a frilly bundle of satin. Sofia recognized it as her drawers. She put out her hand, but he stuffed them into his other pocket with a knowing smirk. With a flick of his wand he righted the room while she was still fumbling with her shoes, her dress still untied.

"Ready then?"

"No," she scowled, starting to feel unkindly towards him and his blasé attitude.

He merely strode over, embracing her in a tight, unexpected hug. Her arms remained crushed between them. If she loosened her hold her dress would fall off. He laid a sharp, hard kiss against her mouth. It took a disorienting moment and the indignant squawk of a raven to alert her that their surroundings had changed.

Cedric released her just as quickly as he'd taken hold of her a moment before, striding across the room to throw open the window. She realized with an acute sense of humiliation that they were back in the castle, in Cedric's workshop, and Wormwood was glaring at her, taking in her rumpled hair and half drawn on dress.

"Out!" Cedric barked, and for a moment she wasn't sure if he was speaking to her. But the raven's put-upon sigh just before his wings unfurled told her he'd meant the command for his familiar. Wormwood swooped through the window, grumbling something unkind as he went. Cedric closed the window with a bang, locking it for good measure. "Ungrateful bird," her muttered, "lucky I don't pluck and roast him. Knew the whole time."

He finally turned to Sofia, finding her standing in the middle of his workshop, her hair rumpled, her dress slipping off, and her eyes much too large. She looked on the verge of hyperventilation. Was it bad that her distress was turning him on just a little? Okay, a lot. _Silly girl_ , he chided mentally, didn't she know she had nothing to fear from him?

He beckoned her towards the stairs leading to his chambers. "This way," he sang, enjoying this far more than he should. Once ensconced inside his rooms, he inspected his headboard with a keen eye.

Sofia's voice came from behind him, small and terribly unlike herself. "Are you really mad at me?"

He turned, assessing her with a calculating raise of his right brow. She dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze as guilty tears prickle her eyes. He sighed, his posture loosening as he came forward to stoke her arms in his hands. "No," he said, making her look up with renewed hope. "I am not truly angry with you."

She sighed with relief, easing into his hold.

"But," he chided, making her tense again, "you should know by now that I have a considerable capacity for pettiness. So while I am not mad at you," he dropped his chin to catch her gaze, holding her eyes so there would be no misunderstanding, "make no mistake that I am going to make you pay."

The smile that slide across his face then had her trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. It was the smile of the morally corrupt. Of a man that could use her body against her. It was the smile of a villain.

He drew the yellow silk length of his tie from his pocket. "Now lie down and put your hands over your head."

His tone brooked no argument, his eyes worryingly hard. She gulped. "I'm not sure that I want to."

He paused at that, brows drawing together on a frown. Perhaps he played his part a bit too well at times. "Good Gods, girl, I'm not going to hurt you."

She bit her lips and he realized she'd thought of it, even if only for a moment. His hands went to her shoulders again, stroking. He pressed his face towards hers and she tilted her chin up, meeting his kiss. It was a good sign. He kissed her tenderly, keeping the caress shallow. "I would never do anything you don't want me to. Tell me to stop and I will stop, I promise you."

"Of course," she nodded eagerly. Too eagerly. "I know that."

"Liar."

"No," she insisted, some of her old fire lighting her eyes, turning them a steely blue. "I trust you."

He couldn't help kissing her then, drawing her against him to mate their mouths together as if sealing a vow. In a way they were, his promise and her trust. When he pulled away she was relieved to see a sparkle of amusement in his golden eyes. "Good, now it's time for your punishment, you naughty girl."

* * *

Author's Note: And what followed after that was the scene included in the final chapters of Revelry, so no need to repeat it again here. There is another alternative, alternative route I almost went with which I'll probably post here next. It involved the more angst filled route I almost went of Cedric turning Daphne down in the middle of their night together when guilt gets the best of him. (All these different routes, are you guys starting to see why it's so damn hard for me to complete anything. :P)


	11. Random Drabbles

Rating: Varies, but goes as high as M

Author's note: Cleaning out my computer files and found some unused bits edited out of various fics of the past and some unpublished story ideas. Not much context. Some are only a single sentence or two. Thought they might be worth some mild entertainment. The rating starts low and increases from there.

Please keep in mind that in all my stories I visualize the characters of Cedric and Sofia much the way the beloved Jess Deaton drew them in her fanart, meaning as mature, fully developed people. Sofia is always a full-grown adult, age 18+.

* * *

Drabbles

* * *

(A/N: Random bit not dedicated to any story idea. Just a vignette about Cedric and his unpredictable magic. Could be seen as a teenage Cedric having some sort of meeting involving his father and King Roland the First.)

He screamed with frustration and everything _shattered_. Everything. The windows, the mirrors, the glasses on the table. One moment all was whole and untouched, the next fragments of clear glass ricocheted like shrapnel throughout the room.

Cedric stopped shouting and looked around, startled. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

His father leveled him with a thunderous glare. The king looked alarmed.

"I can fix it," Cedric said weakly.

"You will do no such thing," Goodwin grumbled and Cedric seemed to shrink, cowed by his father's anger. Goodwin turned to the king who was only beginning to understand the situation. "My most abject apologies, my Lord."

* * *

(A/N: This came from an unwritten story idea suggested by several readers to do a "bad version" of Cedric a la the duplicate spell from the _Sofia the Second_ episode. Fun idea, but my brain doesn't really want to play with it for some reason. This scene would take place between the duplicate Cedric and a grown Sofia on her way into the castle from a riding lesson. The idea being that she would be wearing a pair of tight fitted riding breeches.)

She bent to retrieve her fallen glove.

A resounding crack split the silence of the hallway, sending her upright and rigid in shock. The noise hadn't so much startled her as the stinging pain spreading across her right buttock where his hand had made flat, solid contact. Her mouth hung open, unable to utter a single sound in the face of such an absurd transgression. He'd spanked her. The very notion called a vibrant blush to her face.

"What the matter?" His silky voice stroked her taut nerves to vibrating intensity. "Swallow your tongue?"

She was unable to produce an answer, watching wide-eyed as he sidled around to stand in front of her. His mischievous expression brought a sliver of trepidation.

"Perhaps I should help you find it," he positively purred. When he licked his lips in blatant invitation, Sofia felt her own mouth dry up.

When she declined to accept his offer, he pursed his lips in a moue of offense. "I didn't hurt you, did I, little princess?" His hand wrapped around to boldly cup her backside, his thumb stroking away the minor sting. "Forgive me, I didn't realize you were so fragile."

* * *

(A/N: Another unnamed story idea. Inspired by a HG/SS HP fic I read about two strangers meeting at a party and spending the night together. For StF this would fall into the category of AU in which Cedric and Sofia do not know one another.)

She was a goddess. The black satin dress clinging to her curves, revealing far more of her body than it concealed. Cut low in the back the long curve of her spine whispered for him to caress her there and her wild curls cried out to be tamed. His fingers itched to bury themselves in their tangled depths.

Where she turned, a mask of black pearls and feathers, both glinting with an iridescent purple/green sheen in the low candle light. Her eyes proved bright and blue, glinting with an obvious intelligence and cunning. He was caught in them at once, unable to look away. Her petal pink lips stretching into a smile and he knew at once that he was _fucked_.

...

He entered he in one hard, smooth stroke. She hissed between her teeth and he froze. She was so undeniably tight that he feared he'd explode after a few hapless strokes. Too tight.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, never expecting he was her first. If he'd known, he would have taken more care, gone slower.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, "Please. It's fine, really. I'm fine."

He gazed down at her, or rather at the dark shape of her face, feeling curiously intrusive. It was her decision, really. She'd known she was a virgin and decided on this course. He decided then to honor her choice. He withdrew almost completely before entering her again, slower. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

She trembled, holding herself rigid. He could hear her panting and it caused a response in him, urging him to take her, faster, harder, but he held back, continuing to thrust slowly. "No," she sighed as she began to relax, melting beneath him. Her fingers kneaded the corded muscles of his back and she hummed with contentment.

* * *

(A/N: Not necessary to know, but the following bits were taken from disparate versions of Spelled. They do not tell a cohesive story.)

"I'm not going to break," she whispered, unsure if she was reassuring him or herself.

His laugh was shaky at best. "Yes, I believe we've proven that."

Could he really do this? How would he face tomorrow? How could he look her in the eye? Or the king and queen for that matter, knowing too well that he'd deflowered their youngest daughter? Sure he'd always been a little selfish, but could he be that depraved?

She nibbled on his ear before sucking the tender spot below his jaw.

 _Yes_ , he decided, _yes he could be that depraved_.

* * *

If he held off for much longer he'd be in danger of embarrassing himself. Although, that might not be the worst thing, to go off before he could tumble the kingdom's most beloved princess and probably get himself hung for his actions. Though the king probably wouldn't hang him. Probably.

Maybe.

Hopefully not.

* * *

He caressed her cheek, finding words he didn't know he felt until they came tumbling out. "You don't need to fear me. I'd never hurt you if I can avoid it." He sighed, breath wavering out. "It kills me that I can't avoid this."

* * *

"Shall I call your bluff?"

She felt branded by the heat of his bare manhood pressed against her sex. He rocked against her, sliding easily up and down the length of her folds. It felt so good, and she wanted more. Her body ached to fill the hollow void inside her.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped, and she felt the tip of him press just at the entrance of her body.

She wanted ... She wanted ...

"No," she moaned quietly, "Not like this."

Despite his earlier assertions that he wouldn't be able to stop, he moved back instantly. In no fantasy had she cried because he'd pushed her past her breaking point. He could be a cruel man, but he'd never wished to commit that particular crime. "Quite the dangerous game you play, Princess."

She spun in his arms, instantly kissing him to keep him from getting the wrong idea. "Please," she murmured between kisses. "Just ... not like this."

...

"Quite the state you leave me in."

She glanced up shyly through her lashes, biting her lip. He'd pleasured her with his hands, couldn't she do the same?

He gasped, his carefully constructed poise shaken when she wrapped her slender fingers around his warm length. Surprised by the bold gesture on her part, he couldn't even delight in the guileless widening of her eyes, nor her slack mouth.

She had no basis for comparison, but he felt large in her hand. She gave him an experimental squeeze, eliciting a groan from her sorcerer. Unsure where to go next, she tested a stroke, sweeping her hand up to the moist tip where shining drops of liquid beaded, easing her downward stroke. He groaned again, before angling his head to capture her lips.

His tongue tangled brazenly with hers, and she pumped her hand with growing confidence. After a few moments he pulled his gasping mouth from her own.

...

Spurts of hot, thick liquid spattered her hand and wrist, taking her by surprise. His hips jerked against her a few more times before he found his voice. "Spell ... I can ... fix ..." He kissed her again, still panting.

When he pulled away, he set at once to righting his clothes, searching for his lost wand. She regarded the sight of his glistening essence, still warm against her skin. She though she should perhaps be shocked, maybe even disgusted to be covered in a man's fluids. Instead she found the idea that she'd coaxed him to climax, into letting go so completely, wholly erotic.

"Sorry," he muttered, a self-conscious flush pinkened his cheeks in the most endearing manner.

"For what?" she asked in earnest, as he waved his wand, performing a vanishing spell.

* * *

She untied the ribbon of her cape, letting it fall. The gossamer shift left little to the imagination. Despite her misgivings she'd forgone undergarments and the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs was plainly visible to his wide-eyed assessment. The peaks of her breasts strained against the light fabric.

He stared, frozen in shock, his eyes searching. He seemed torn between examining her and looking away in modesty. Her heart thumped hard enough to make her amulet shiver. Before her nerve could leave her, she grasped his hand. He was unresisting, boneless and pliant, and she easily molded his open palm to her breast.

Cedric stared at his hand as if it belonged to someone else, but the sensation of yielding flesh beneath his palm told him otherwise. He might have pulled away but her two hands pressed him to her. He tore his eyes away to seek out her face. She was plainly terrified. He could feel the pounding of her heart, hear the rapid shutter of her breath, and see the quiver of her lips. She looked back at him, her eyes wide and afraid. He knew that fear. The gut wrenching terror and anticipation of assured rejection. He should reject her, not because he didn't lust for her, but because it was the right thing to do. But her fragile courage stirred a kindred sympathy. Coupled with his desire for her, it created a potent ardor to indulge her in this fantasy.

He softened to her, his hand caressing her, rolling his thumb over her nipple, which tightened in response. She loosened her grip, allowing him freedom to caress her. Stepping forward, she tensed expecting him to kiss her like she'd read about in books. Instead he leaned into her, resting his free hand against the door beside her head. They were close enough that their noses brushed but he didn't close the distance. She mewled with new born desire as his touch he stoked the fire inside her. She yearned towards him, but he stayed just out of her reach. Desperate for relief she pressed his hand downward, towards the source of her deepest cravings.

She trembled as his fingers slid over her abdomen, going lower. When he passed over the curls hiding her most intimate flesh she jerked, heaving in a breath of anticipation. His fingers curled in the folds of her shift, gathering the thin fabric to lift it up and out of the way. She brushed her nose against his, wanting him to kiss her, but he pulled his head back, just out of her grasp. She looked to find his eyes closed.

He wove his right hand underneath her shift gently touching the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She found his careful slow movements only heightened her anticipation. She remembered his words the night of the truth spell: _I want you to shiver in anticipation. I want you to burn for my touch._

 _When I finally do touch you, I want you already wet for me._

On that she could oblige him. She felt near to collapsing, waiting for him to touch her where she most wanted him to. His thumb stroked her thigh and she pushed her hips forward in needy invitation.

"Please," she moaned, her voice sounding like someone else's.

Cedric opened his eyes, watching as his hand curled to brush her damp curls. Her half-lidded eyes remained drawn to his while he breached her hidden folds, gliding over her tender lips. She drew her head back to rest against the door, eyes sliding closed. He touched her in earnest then, adding pressure to his movements.

* * *

(A/N: This next, longer bit I had forgotten about and was surprised to find. I think it was the beginnings of both Revelry and Sealed. I think the idea was that Cedric and Sofia were married somehow against their will and Cedric wasn't particularly happy about it. This scene would take place when he finally gives in to being intimate with Sofia.)

In the alcove there was a low shelf, meant for holding a decorative vase or some inane arraignment of flowers. He hefted her rump on to it. She wrapped her legs about his waist. With some hasty positioning and a quick snap of his hips, he was inside her.

Sofia clutched at his shoulders, moaning as he took her roughly, all the pent up frustration of the long months coming to a head. Her legs drew him in deeper as an orgasm crested through her. He stilled, then withdrew, making her moan in protest. Tears threatened to fill her eyes. The pleasure was sweet, but she didn't want it to be over so soon. The long months loomed before her, threatening loneliness she could no longer endure.

He had to pry the tough grip of her legs from around his waist. Carefully, he arraigned her skirts into a more dignified state before tucking himself back inside his trousers. She heaved in a breath that hiccupped into a sob. Cedric looked at her, confused and distressed.

"No, love," his caressed her face, wiping an errant tear away with his thumb. "No, no, I didn't mean- Just, not here."

Sofia dared to lift her eyes to his, a cautious hope in their depths.

His pressed a kiss to her lips, before pulling pack to whisper, "Come to bed with me."

She took his hand, sliding off the ledge, and followed him to the bed she'd only shared with him once. That night had been full of longing and tears, and she hoped she wasn't about to repeat the experience. Cedric closed the door before turning to her. Carefully, with deliberate care, he loosened her dress. It puddled at her feet, leaving her shaking in her slip. His hand slid over the satin, framing her waist, skimming up to cup a breast. Sofia moaned into his mouth when he squeezed a nipple between his fingers.

She couldn't take such teasing. "Please, Cedric."

"I think I'm entitled to administering some punishment for this predicament you put us in."

She lifted her eyes to find him smirking at her and felt heartened that he could finally find some humor in what she'd done. "I— I suppose," she conceded, "What did you have in mind?"

His smirk deepened and she felt a flutter of arousal roll through her, heightening the pleasant burn between her legs.

"Take this off," he tugged at the strap of her slip, "and lay down on the bed."

She gulped, but complied, slipping off the last barrier of her clothing and climbing naked and shaking onto the bed. While she moved into position, he shrugged out of his coat and shirt. He climbed over her, taking each wrist in hand and pulling them up over her head. With a murmured word and a flick of his wand, she felt her wrists bound with ribbons of satin. When she tugged, they held fast, binding her to the head board. He settled between her legs, spreading her open like a sacrifice across and alter. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Are you frightened?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"No," she lied.

"Hmmm," he didn't seem to believe her, but then she no longer cared, when he lowered his face to the side of her neck and kissed the skin there. She tilted her head aside as his tongue flickered out just before his teeth nipped her. The hot, wet kisses trailed lower, until his mouth hovered over her breast, rubbing the sensitive nub with his lips. Sofia arched her back, trying to invite him for more. Between her legs, her sex burned for him.

His tongue licked slowly out, whetting her nipple before he blew a torturous puff of air against it. Her hips arched up on instinct, but to no avail. He knelt between her knees, forcing her legs apart, but not close enough that she could rub against him. The position left her open and exposed with no means of relief and she realized just than that he'd done so on purpose, part of her "punishment". She tugged at the restraints, keening in distress as he continued to toy with her breasts.

He pressed her breasts together, licking a wet line between them, and Sofia realized she'd barely scratched the surface of her husband's talents in bed. She wrapped her legs around him hips and tried to draw him down to her, but it was no good. His mouth finally closed over her tormented nipple, sucking strongly, drawing out the point between his lips. All the while he palmed her other breast, pinching and rolling that nipple between his fingers. Sofia's back arched as he drew on her nipple again and again, flicking his tongue against it with swift, sharp strokes. When he switched to her other breast, adding wetness and warmth to the already sensitive tip, her hips undulated. She pulled on the tethers, crying out in amazed pleasure as an orgasm swept through her. But the hollow clenching of her womanhood only made her that much more desperate for him.

He released her breast, nuzzling his face between them. "Fuck," he growled, "I have to taste you."

She barely registered his words, uncomprehending until he shifted down to settle his face level with the span of her thighs. His mouth descended upon the throbbing bud of her clit, making her jerk upwards, pulling on her bound wrists. His tongue traced her silky folds, stroking until she rocked up against him.

Cedric splayed his hand over her hip, stroking lovingly with his thumb. A wave of pleasure washed over her, drawing her knees up and curling her toes. Her chest heaved and her neck drew back as she called out.

"Please," she panted, "I can't t-ta- I can't- take- it." But even as she pleaded, she seemed torn between twisting away and holding steady.

A throb of lust that bordered on pain shot through his cock, reminding him of his own need. He rolled her onto her side and then her stomach. The ties twisted over each other, taking up the slack. He took the pillow from beneath her head, stuffing it under her hips instead. Sofia rested her hands against the headboard, tipping her hips up and open to him. She felt the bed shift, then the hot, wet tip of his manhood parting her lips. She moaned, pressing back, welcoming him inside her. As part of her punishment, she expected he'd thrust into her hard and swift, but instead he drew into her with an aching slowness, making her feel every hard, hot inch of him. She moaned shamelessly, sinking against the support of the pillows, opening her hips wider to feel all of him.

He rocked into her, stretching her, filling her completely. The feeling was ever so slightly painful and he rested there, kissing her back as she adjusted. When she rolled her hips back against him, he knew it was time to move. He grasped her hips, holding her still as he rocked back, pulling her to him as he pressed forward in strong, sharp strokes.

* * *

(A/N: WAIT! HOLD UP! For this last one I need to issue a warning to my Cedria fans. This last bit is an M-rated pairing between Cedric and Amber. Yes, you read that right. If you do not fancy that pairing than feel free to skip over this last vignette. Oh, and another warning: this story is pretty smutty, possessing shades of dominance/submission.

The basic storyline was something like this: Amber has had plenty of lovers but is bored with their bland, vanilla level of adoring sex. Through some unwritten scene she would take notice of Cedric's sardonic personality and start to consider his darker proclivities as a possible solution for a new partner who might finally please her. She propositions him, but he turn her down. Thus starts a battle of wills that ends when Cedric tells her what she deserves is a good spanking and he decided to give it to her. After that Amber sneaks into his bedroom, where he discovers her in his bed naked and finally relents to a one-time, no-strings-attached fling. Enjoy!)

Amber fought back a yawn.

It wasn't polite for a princess to yawn under most circumstances. It was a crass, ungainly gesture best hidden behind the folds of a delicate, ornate fan. Not that she could hide a fan in the gauzy folds of her shift, or that it would be in any way polite to whip one out now and flutter it before her face. Still, she huffed out a frustrated sigh. Her consort seemed to mistake it as an amorous groan and applied himself with increased exertion between her legs.

She rolled her eyes, awash with disappointment. He'd been so handsome, so full of masculine swagger. She'd been sure he couldn't fail to satisfy, and yet for all his rippling muscles and glossy, perfectly coiffed hair, he proved utterly useless to fulfill her in any way she desired.

His grunting increased, and she made the appropriate sounds, effecting a tone of pleasure she didn't feel. That always seemed to spur them on to a quick end. Thankfully the whole thing had been quick. Besides a thin ripple of pleasure at his first hasty thrust, filling her sheath with a satisfying warmth, any prospect at orgasm had dwindled from there. He moved in an uneven rhythm, laying sloppy kisses over her breasts, making her cringe.

"Oh," he moaned lowly in her ear, making her turn away with a displeased frown, "Oh Amber, you don't know how long— how much I dreamed— You're so beautiful—"

She bit her lip, not in pleasure, but to keep herself from blurting the words that wanted to tumble off her tongue, _Oh, do shut up you idiot!_

...

Amber trailed through the halls of her castle in the same state she spent most of her time now: bored. Her latest paramour had been quietly led from the castle an hour before, ushered out by a well-trained maid practiced at making it firmly understood that their liaison was to remain secret, and, for this one, not repeated.

He'd been so upset when she rose from the bed, offering little more than a stiff good-bye, before swaying into her adjoining boudoir. She cringed, remembering his pitiful, "But ... but ... I thought you _liked_ me."

...

"I have a ... proposition for you."

"Let me guess," Cedric drawled, crossing his arms over his chest, "you want a shiny new tiara."

Amber traced the breadth of his shoulders, ignoring his patronizing tone. "No." Her cat that got the cream smile made him stiffen. Good, she liked to keep men on their toes. "I want something else from you. I have a particular ... _need_ , one that I have thus far been unable to assuage with the available options."

He continued to stare, executing the occasional slow blink. He certainly wasn't picking up on her vague tones. Was he that inept with woman? Or was their relationship one that simply didn't allow the suggestion to penetrate his brain? She hoped the ladder, as the former would put a nasty snag in her plans.

"And I am to assume that you believe I can help you with this ... _need_ ," he said, slightly suspicious.

"Yes," she smiled that slow, sultry smile that had been known to drop kings to their knees. Cedric right brow raised, but no more. Her smile dimmed.

...

"Cedric," she snapped, making him stiffen. "I believe you are to bow to your superiors."

His lips pressed thin and she fought back a triumphant smirk, not wishing to show her hand yet. He placed his arm across his waist, dipping into a low bow. When he raised his head, his eyes glared daggers at her. "Your highness."

Amber licked her lips deliberately. "That's a good boy."

When the muscle in his jaw clenched, then she did smile.

...

His hand landed soundly on her bare cheek. The breath whooshed from her lungs, more from surprise than the force of his blow.

He'd struck her! He'd actually struck her. She gathered her dignity, shrieking, "How— how dare you! Get your hands off me, you commoner."

"You're not hurt," he drawled, as another smack struck the same spot as the first.

She gasped as the slight sting morphed into something desirable. She squirmed, flushing at the indignity of her position. He was giving her the spanking he promised, but she wasn't supposed to enjoy it. Was she?

Cedric struck her a third time, the blow just hard enough to sting the tender flesh. An embarrassing moan fell out of her lips, making her spine stiffen. Her voice shook. "I— I demand you release me, at once."

"Why Princess Amber," he leaned over her, pressing his chest to her back, but not enough to pin her there. She could move if she wished and she wondered at the desire that stuck her to the spot. He continued in a languid drawl. "I never expect you'd be so frail. Perhaps a gentler touch is required."

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him she didn't want any more touches from him at all, but her mouth snapped shut when his fingers caressed the curve of her ass, treading downward to stroke the wet folds of her sex.

"Hmmm," he hummed, making her back vibrate from his chest. "Is all this for me? How very," he pressed his fingers firmly against her damp clit, making her groan, "generous of you."

The tingling pain of her rump combined with his firm, confident strokes had her moaning shamelessly. She felt like a wanton, a lewd strumpet instead of the proud princess she was. She was supposed to seduce him, not the other way around. She tried to feel indignant, but his fingers teasing her entrance, had her arching her hips back in silent command.

...

She wrapped her hand firmly around his cock, eyes going wide at the feel of him. "Oh," she breathed in a not unappreciative sound.

Cedric slid her an impudent smirk over his shoulder at her.

"Well," she sniffed, "I suppose you had to have one redeeming attribute."

He rolled his eyes, huffing, "Do you ever shut up, you insolent harpy?"

Before she could shriek some offended reply, his lips crashed down on hers.

...

"Why ... did you ... stop?" she panted.

"Because, I want something from you first."

"What is it you want then?" She asked in a disgusted sneer. "Money, jewels?"

He grabbed a handful of her hair, tugging sharply. "Don't insult me, girl."

"What—" She gasped, becoming more aroused than she thought possible. "What is it you want then?"

He put his mouth by her ear, baring his teeth. "I want you to beg."

"I most certainly will not!"

"Fine." He released her, leaving her naked and trembling on all fours. "It's of no consequence to me."

He was lying. She knew he was lying. She could see the proof in the way he cock throbbed, the tip weeping. Her stubbornness told her to double down. If he could bluff than so could she. "Alright then. I suppose if we can't reach an agreement ..."

"Well, that's up to you," he purred in a silky voice. "You have my terms and I have yours."

She blinked. "My terms?"

"Yes." He moved back into place behind her. The head of his cock rolled through her folds, teasing her with his thickness. She couldn't help the moan that wound up her throat, or the need to press her hips back against him. He used the tip of himself to stroke her clit. "I told you to beg, and you'll get the thing that you want."

"And what," she panted, trying to keep her dignity, "is that?"

His mouth was by her ear again, draping the warmth of his body over her back. "You want me to _fuck_ you." Amber whimpered as he ground against her. "You don't want some boy with a half-grown beard to make halting, tender love to you. You want a man between your wet lips." The tip of him rested at her entrance, pressing teasingly inside, just barely. He bit the edge of her ear before growling, "You want to be fucked hard, and deep, and without any tender sensibilities."

She tried to press back against him, to force him deeper, but he moved his hips away. She growled in frustration. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too damn much?"

"I'll shut up, Princess, when you tell me what I want to hear. Beg. Me. Beg me to fuck you."

Her stubborn nature held out, though she knew she would still win, even if she had to beg. But her pride fought against the idea of debasing herself. The time stretched on. He waited, as if he had all the time in the world and waiting with the head of his cock just barely inside a nice, warm, tight cunt wasn't the most tortuous feeling in the entire fucking world.

Finally, he sighed, and Amber thought she had worn him down, until he pulled away from her completely. She nearly shrieked in a rage, but then he was kneeling before her, leaving her eye to eye with his glistening member. She glanced up to find his eyebrow cocked in challenge. She held his eye, offering a challenge of her own as she closed her mouth around him, sliding her lips and tongue down his length as far as she could go. There she worked her tongue up and down his underside, sucking fiercely until he hissed through his teeth. She'd always felt a certain kind of power having a man's most precious possession at her mercy. Here pleasure was hers to give or withhold. She thought of teasing him the way he'd teased her, but she decided she wanted to make him come, to show him that he wasn't in control nearly as much as he thought. She exhaled, taking him deeper than he thought possible.

"Fuck," he growled, reaching over the expanse of her back to thread his fingers between her legs from above.

Amber squeaked, when he used his long limbs to touch her in this position. She had to cant her head to the side to keep from choking on him, but the sensation of him burying two fingers deep inside her while her mouth slipped around his cock was too good to stop. She sucked harder, now in a competition to see who could make the other lose control first. For once she hoped she lost.

Cedric pumped his fingers against her, groaning at her incredible wetness. He was half regretting his ultimatum. It turned out that Amber's sharp tongue was made for much more than complaining, but as heavenly as her mouth was around him, he wanted to be buried inside her more. He rocked his hips against her mouth slowly and gently, not wanting her to gag. She hummed in approval.

"Just think," he groaned, working his fingers faster as he felt the tell-tale tightening if her muscles, "I could be fucking these pretty lips instead."

All at once, Amber stilled, moaning around him as she came. He'd been seeking that exact response, but was unprepared for the suddenness and intensity of her reaction. He chuckled despite himself, moving his hips back, pulling himself from her slackened mouth.

"Really?" He petted her hair as she panted, helping her raise up on her knees. They were face to face, her hazel eyes wide and amazed. "You came from being called pretty, didn't you?"

Her flush darkened and he knew he was right. He let his fingers wander between her legs again, from the front this time, and her eyes slid closed when he rolled over her sensitive clit. "Is that what you want?" he whispered, pinching her clit between his fingers hard enough to make her jump, then weaken, hanging nearly limp in his grasp.

"Nugh," she moaned, intelligently.

"Do you want me to praise you? Tell you how beautiful you are?" She didn't respond, but her brows drew a little together, a frown just turning down the corners of her mouth. Interesting. He slipped three fingers inside her this time. "Of course," he muttered to himself, "You know how beautiful you are, but ..." he considered his next words. "Do you want me to tell you how badly I want to fuck this gorgeous cunt of yours?"

Amber moaned, a sharp contraction of muscle tightening until he could barely move his fingers. So, that was it, he realized. She knew she was beautiful, but she'd never been told _that_ part of her was beautiful before. Of course, she'd probably only been with boys who barely knew what to do with a woman's body, let alone how to appreciate one.

He kissed her mouth and she returned it eagerly, putty in his hands, all resistance gone. "You are, you know? Beautiful. And I want to see those pretty pink lips stretched around me. Do you want that?"

She bit her lip, nodding.

"Then," he prompted, "what do you have to say?"

She blinked her eyes open, and he watched her give in.

"Please," she whispered.

It gave him no joy to break her spirit, that wasn't his intention, but to see her so lost in the pleasure proved potently arousing. He pumped his fingers, deliberately bringing her to brink of another climax.

"Please, what?" He asked, gently this time.

"P- please, fuck me."

"That's not quite good enough."

"W- what? But you said if I—" Her eyes hardened, on the verge of real tears at his denial, but he softened his censure with a kiss to her cheek.

"I want you to say my name. I want to know that you know who you're asking."

She looked him in the eye, on the verge of denying him something, no matter how good his damn fingers felt, but something on his face stopped her. "Please, C-Cedric. I want you to fuck me, please."

"Good girl," he purred, plunging his fingers hard against her until she cried out.

She hadn't quite finished coming by the time he withdrew his hand, maneuvering behind her. With one hard, sure stroke he filled her completely, making her cry out again in unabashed pleasure.

...

She could barely stand to rise, so she stayed laying on the bed, shaking. "I suppose you want me to leave," she whispered, sounding more humbled than she cared for.

He reached over, stroking her back in a gesture she wasn't aware she needed until he provided it. "No," he replied softly, "Not yet. We can wait until you're ready."

He continued to touch her, gently easing her down from the high, soothing her strained nerves. "Why are you being so nice to me? You don't even like me."

He sighed, kissing her shoulder. "It's not as if I hate you. But do not mistake me, I have no love for you. Just," he chuckled, "as you have no love for me."

She rolled the thought around, wondering if she should be bothered that she'd had just shared the most intense sexual experience of her life with a man she could barely stand. "No," she allowed, "I don't love you."

* * *

Author's note: Well, I feel better. My files are lighter, and my brain feels freer putting these drabbles out for public consumption. Let me know what you thought about my little rambles, please.

Love and hugs to you all!


	12. Epilogue

Rating: T

Author's Note: Originally written for Revelry, but I wasn't convinced that this epilogue went with the story that came before. I felt like I was clumsily shoehorning references to Beltane in to give the two some soft of relationship to each other (the story and the epilogue). As is, it could be read as a continuation of many a Cedfia story or as a stand alone short story.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

 _Ten years later …_

"Good morning, and Happy Beltane, Duchess," Bobbin squeaked, lifting a whistling kettle from the stove as Sofia entered the kitchens. The gnome maid motioned a gnarled hand toward the prep table. "I was just about to bring breakfast up for you and the master."

"As I have said before, Bobbin, he's not the master." If Sofia's smile was more brittle than usual, the maid didn't comment on it, though she did shake her large head in disapproval. Sofia pretended not to see, picking up the tray. "If you don't mind, I'll bring it up myself."

The gnome woman's aplomb would have shamed even the unflappable Baileywick when she lifted her chin regally. "The mistress should not be preforming servant's duties. Mistress should still be in bed."

"On that," Sofia smirked as she swept out the doorway, "we will just agree to disagree, as always."

Through the swinging kitchen door, Sofia could still hear Bobbins muttering her disapproval. "Bobbin knows," the earth fey grumbled, "'Tis Beltane, and Mistress and Master should be busy making babies for Bobbin to tend to."

Sofia's cheeks flamed, despite being a woman of twenty and eight instead of a green girl. Bobbin never said a word against Sofia's unmarried status, seeming to take it for granted that her long-standing relationship was a certainty, despite society's expectation. As a duchess in her own right, sister to the King of Enchancia and sister and sister-in-law to the queen and king of Tangu, she was a desirable woman for any gentleman of high birth. Most had given up by now, accepting her graceful decent into spinsterhood, or finally heeding the whispers regarding her unusual companionship with Enchancia's mercurial sorcerer. Sofia smirked, hefting the tray. Rumors fueled by their often flushed, sated expressions when in each other's company, no doubt.

As she wove her way through the cluttered hallways of her home with the easy grace of the most trusted butler, Sofia gave a cursory contemplation to the ornaments and souvenirs set in every corner and bookcase.

When Aunt Tilly passed the manor onto Sofia, taking her belongs with her to start her new life with Sir Bartleby, Sofia had hastened to fill her new home with her own tokens. At the staircase leading to the master suite, she passed a glass case displaying the knitting needled she'd used to trap the hydra of D'ormad, and the gemstones presented to her as a token of gratitude from the trolls of West Mezmerta. Along the bottom shelve a collection of rare books from the Silent Library of Nubok shared space with a lumpy pile of grey fuzz that at first glance appeared worthless if one did not know better. But Sofia knew better. She gave the case a rueful smile, remembering times passed. But looking around, her smile dimmed. It was undeniably _her_ house, not a hint that anyone else resided there, because really no one else did, no matter how many nights they shared together.

A familiar ache tightened her chest and she had to pause a moment to collect her thoughts before forging ahead up the staircase. The tray and her steps felt heavier than before as she contemplated the decisions that awaited her at the top. Or rather who awaited her, and how the decisions were largely out of her hands. She hoped that today would prove a day worthy of celebration, but she couldn't shake the pragmatic notion that it could very well end in tears.

Years before when she'd first been gifted the manor, it afforded her the most thrilling taste of freedom. Almost immediately, she had fallen in love with living alone, away from the rigid schedules and structure of the castle. Tilly's former home, provided her with a direct avenue to the secret library, allowing her to continue her work as a Storykeeper unobstructed. Busy providing happy endings throughout the realms, she'd rarely needed to return to the castle except for the most prominent engagements. Cedric never seemed to mind when she went days, if not weeks between visits, cherishing his own solitude. She never wished to pry into his set ways, taking pains to avoid seeming needy of his attention or his time. In the beginning, she'd been so young and unsure of herself, deferring to what she assumed he wanted, more time alone than with her, and soon they fell into a routine.

It didn't occur to her to be bothered by their arrangement at first, she had friends to keep her company, adventures to pursue and happy-endings to ensure. She never spared much thought for what she might be missing by choosing and older, sedate man as her mate. For his part, Cedric demanded very little of her in return. He didn't beg for her to stay when she left on an extended journey, nor did he ever interfere with her work. In short, they complimented each other nicely. He was quiet and withdrawn where she was vivacious and outgoing, and neither begrudged the other their proclivities. So what is she sometimes longed to spend more time with him? So what if every time she left, she silently wished he'd ask her to stay? So what if his aloof, almost detached attitude towards _them_ sometimes made her want to scream? They were compatible in other, decidedly more pleasurable ways. They still played their games, still tempted and teased one another, and the stretches of absence made them burn all the more for the next time they'd be together. On occasion, Cedric still tied her up, but he'd never sought to tie her down.

It had worked for some time, ten years, but her patience had finally worn thin. Her thirst for adventure had changed. She'd seen the world, met remarkable people and creatures, and seen and done the unimaginable countless times. She was ready for a new adventure, one she could only hope Cedric wished to embark upon with her. And if not— her heart gave a painful squeeze— then perhaps they had outgrown each other. A bleak voice inside whisper, worrying that perhaps they had a long time ago, and she was holding on to the dregs of what could have been, instead of what was.

Squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle instead of delivering breakfast, she edged the bedroom door open. She settled the tray onto the little table beside the French windows. A fresh bolt of pain shocked her, remembering how on the nights he slept over Cedric liked to drink his morning tea by that window.

On the bed, the very man of her thoughts turned over, murmuring. Sofia couldn't help her fond smile, taking in his rumpled hair and the new growth of a goatee that made him appear younger and somehow more sinister. She loved it and had threatened to enchant all his robes pink if he ever so much as thought about shaving it off.

He blinked, wincing against the cheery morning sun. "Morning," he mumbled, seeing her standing at the foot of the bed.

"Good morning," she tried to keep her tone light, even as she picked nervously at the bedspread.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Uh oh, you have that _we need to talk_ look on your face."

She'd been wearing that look a lot lately, picking little fights, skirting around the true issues bothering her, which wasn't fair, she knew. A voice that sounded suspiciously like her aunt told her she best to get to it. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Yes," he sighed, sitting up. "I know what day it is."

"It's Beltane," she began, "and this year will be …"

"Ten years," he nodded, as if he'd seen just this sort of thing coming. "I feel this is a discussion I'd prefer to be wearing pants for."

As he swept the sheets aside, rolling out of bed without a stich of clothing, she felt she should give him some privacy. But she couldn't make herself turn away, hoping this wasn't her last time seeing the long curve of his back, mentally tracing the familiar incantations etched upon his skin.

Still shirtless, but in his trousers, he crossed to the little table, fixing himself a strong cup of tea. She watched him drink it black, her carefully constructed narrative crumbling under the suspicion that she might not be the only one with something to say. Cedric had seemed distant lately.

She folded her arms under her breasts, hugging herself tightly as if warding off a chill in the warm, sunny room. "Yes, it's our ten-year _anniversary_. Not that we've ever celebrated such a thing, except in the usual ways of Beltane."

"Well, it does make it difficult to celebrate an anniversary when you cannot do so in any public manner."

His bleak words brought her up short. On occasion he'd expressed frustration with the secretive nature of their relationship. From the sidelong glances and quiet murmurs of her family, she was fairly certain they knew, or at least suspected, but she'd never worked up the courage to tell them directly. If she didn't petition the king for his blessing, then he couldn't deny her, she'd always reasoned. But, it wasn't as if Cedric had ever pushed the matter very hard. "I suppose the desire for public acknowledgment requires a desire for a more permanent arrangement."

"Permanent?" He glared, the gold tones of his eyes going flat. "It's been ten years, and have I ever been anything but here, waiting for you to return?"

"Yes, you have," she tossed her head in frustration, her shoulder length waves settling back, "and have I not always returned to you?"

"In your own time," he muttered darkly down into his tea.

"What is that supposed to mean?" But he wouldn't answer, so she forged ahead. "Look, I wanted to talk to you today, of all days, because Beltane is about new beginnings. We began on Beltane, and I feel the time has come again for another kind of beginning."

She picked at her nails, letting her hair fall to shield her face. "Lately, I can't seem to shake the feeling that I'm ready for a change, in my work, in … in my life. I want something different than what we have … something more settled."

"Settled? As in, settling down?"

"Yes," she nodded, as if confirming it to herself more than him.

"I did ask you once," he reminded her gently.

"When I was twenty," she implored, "I wasn't ready to contemplate marriage then."

"Yes, I know," he snapped, eyes hardening with that defensive anger she'd been hoping to avoid, "And you never much demonstrated any interest since."

Her lips parted, wanting to offer a defense, but there was truth in his words. She'd always been more than happy to traipse off on her adventures. She'd never shown much interest in giving her gypsy existence up, until she began to blame him for not giving her what she hadn't even asked him for.

Cedric sighed, setting his cup down to lean forward, his elbows on his knees. "I don't want to fight. There isn't much to be gained from it. I think we both know things can't go on as they have."

Though it was exactly what she meant to say, but hearing him put the words out loud with such weary resignation, it made her want to deny the truth, to insist that they could go on. They need not acknowledge the widening chasm between them. Instead she pressed her lips together to stop their trembling.

"You were always," he said gently, spreading his open hands out, "larger than I could encompass. I told myself over and over that it wasn't my place to put restrictions on you, to demand anything of you, that I should be grateful to inhabit any small corner of your wider world. And I'd like to think it was a pretty significant corner."

She bit her lip, nodding, unable to speak for the tears clogging her throat.

"At first, I was so proud, watching you go out to change the world, and it was alright because you always came back to me. But lately, every time you leave, I can't help but feel resentful. I've tried to tell myself that I'm being petty and selfish, wanting you to myself—" He looked up, pinning her with desperate eyes. "Wanting you to stay. If I'm being honest, I hate it. I hate watching you leave. I hate the feeling of being left behind."

Her lips parted in sympathetic pain, shocked to the core to know how deeply he'd been effected by her leaving. She always though he preferred his solitude.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. "I'm almost fifty, which, as you know, in sorcerer's terms means I'm closer to a man of his thirties. I may have lived a smaller, quieter existence than you, but I've accomplished much of what I always wanted. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've discovered that the things I thought I wanted have changed as well."

Sofia felt his words tearing apart something deep inside. If the things he wanted changed, did that mean he no longer wanted her? She made herself ask, "What sort of things?"

"I too wish for a _settled_ life. I want a home. Not a tower or a manor or even a castle. I want a home, and …" he ducked his head, a sure sign that what he was about say was of great significance to his deepest desires. "I want a family."

"You mean, children?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes, children, and a wife. Which is not to say," he added quickly, "that she need to stay at home, or not have a purpose all her own, but I would like a companion to come home to. Do you understand?"

She nodded, because she did. She truly did. She'd not been that, ever. They'd been together, but living separate lives. He'd given her the space to follow her dreams, afraid to share with her his desires for stability.

"And," he added quickly, "I could never expect you to— Never ask that you give up what it is you do, but I find that as much as I love you, and I do—" He closed his eyes, breathing out a ragged sigh that made his entire body tremble. "I love you so much, Sofia, but I simply cannot do this anymore."

"I—" she stared, shocked to the core. "I didn't know you wanted any of those things."

"Of course not." He huffed a humorless laugh. "How could you if I never said?"

She drifted over carefully, crouching down before his down turned eyes. Slowly, almost timidly, she set her hands on the end of his knees. "What I wanted to tell you," she began quietly, tears falling quietly down her cheeks, "is that I want to stop being a Storykeeper."

He lifted his eyes, the curious quirk of his brow showing his confusion.

"Sasha's doing well," she said of her latest protégé. "And the amulet of Avalor has chosen a new princess. As a past bearer, I'll still be called at times to guide any new princesses, but … I've had so many wonderful adventures, and I wouldn't change the life I've lived, except perhaps to know how you felt, but … I am so tired of being alone. I know people and creatures all over the world, and not even one has ever enticed me to stay away long. You are my life, Cedric. You are my heart. You're my home.

"Those things you mentioned wanting," she chewed her lip, fluttering her lashes down to hide the hope in her eyes least it be crushed, "a home and a family, do you think you could want those things with me?"

His hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her chin upward to look at him. "Of course," he insisted. "Of course I want them with you. I just thought that, what with your obligations, that you wouldn't want the same things."

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, squeezing gently. "I do. I do so very much. I thought—," she giggled, sniffling, "I thought if I so much as said the word baby, you'd go running from the room in a panic."

His face softened with a wistful longing that caught the breath in her lungs. "A few years ago, yes, it would have. But the idea of you pregnant with our child, I can't think of any sight I'd like to see more."

He tugged gently, and she eased up off the floor, climbing into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him with a firm, sweet gratitude. When she pulled away, her breath came short. "Well, it is Beltane, what do you say we start tonight?"

He raised one cheeky eyebrow. That look still had the power to make her flush. "Technically, the whole day is Beltane, so why not start right now?"

Sofia giggled as he lifted her up, walking them both towards the bed.

-Fin-

* * *

Author's Note: As I said, originally an epilogue for Revelry, but it could be made to fit any number of Cedfia stories, or even stand on its own.

Reviews please!


	13. Sealed: Part I

Rating: Very, very M

Author's Note: Okay, this is an idea that came to me when I was half-awake. So far the idea has spiraled into 21 pages of text, not all of which are posted here. I don't know if the rest will ever come together into a real story, or if it will just stay a bunch of disjointed scribbles. I thought I could at least post the parts that made ht emost sense leading up to the lemon scene that sprang fully formed from by head.

And please forgive the fact that this is really barely proofed. I needed to get it out of my head before moving on to other things (*cough, cough* Revelry *cough*) but I didn't want to spend too much time on it.

* * *

Sealed

* * *

"This is a travesty! How dare they not exempt you from such an outrageous law. You! A princess, for goodness sake!"

"Calm down, Amber," her sister placated, scanning the parchment in her hand for a second, then third time. When she felt she had the meaning well understood, she rolled the missive up, sliding it back into the gilded cylinder bearing the seal of the High Council of Wizards. "There's a year deadline. I'm sure the council will realize their folly before then and repeal this ridiculous decree."

"Less than a year now," the blond hissed, pacing an agitated line back and forth before the garden bench where Sofia sat. "Daddy's appeal took two months. And for what?" She waved her hand at the ornate cylinder that had arrived not ten minutes before by special messenger. "For this! _'We regret to inform you that Princess Sofia's royal standing does not exempt her from her blood status as the biological daughter of a warlock_ '."

Sofia pressed her lips together to keep from nibbling on her bottom one, betraying how anxious the decision truly made her feel. When the marriage decree came out two months before, she'd been so certain that it wouldn't last. Even going so far as to try and dissuade her father from dignifying such an outrageous law with an appeal. But appeal it he did, and she hoped his incensed letter wouldn't have need of a reply because the decree would be long repealed by then. As of today, the law still stood, and the council's letter clearly stated in no uncertain terms that she did indeed have ten months to capitulate and marry a man of magic blood.

She had no shortage of offers; they'd arrived daily from the law's announcement, some worryingly fast. She thought they'd dwindle as time passed, but a new offer arrived almost daily, some new, some modifying earlier proposals of marriage, trying to sweeten the deal. The longer she remained available, a princess and a fledgling sorceress, the more enticing a prize she became. Apparently, sorcerers, warlocks and wizards had an even higher opinion of themselves that Dukes, Earles, and princes.

Amber paused in her pacing, brining a hand to her mouth to nibbled an impeccably manicured nail, a testament to how unseated she was by the news. Having no magical blood in their family, the law did not apply to Amber or James. The father that Sofia barely remembered, his blood running through her veins, was what trapped her. Though, perhaps she could have escaped the council's notice if she hadn't grown into such a proficient magic wielder. Her skills were too adept for the council to ignore or make an exception.

"There has to be a way out of it," Amber muttered viciously. "There has to. They can't make you do this. They can't force you to marry one of those old, moldering magical lechers."

Sofia's hand convulsed involuntarily around the canister just thinking one some of the offers she'd received. Some were sincere, even kind, like sweet Merlin, claiming to be too old to be "of any bother to her", but willing to offer the protection of his magic and his name against some of her more unsavory "suitors". The shortage of new generations of magical blood had reached a crisis dire enough to not only enact the decree that superseded kingdom law, but to excuse past unethical, and at times out right criminal, behavior for some truly questionable characters. The day she received an ostentatious envelope bearing the chest of one Grimtrex the (not-so) Good, she thought the world couldn't get any more bizarre.

Others followed, some sweetly endearing, some outright disturbing, but most pushy and presumptuous full of empty boasting and swagger. And not a single one had done so much as tempt her to consider accepting. She refused to accept this new reality, almost as stubbornly as she refused to acknowledge the absence of the one offer she might have been tempted to accept. Or how deeply its absence stung.

But he hadn't offered. And she wasn't thinking about it.

Ten months. She still had ten months.

She rose from the bench, her shoulders held back in determination. "You're right, Amber, there has to be some way out of it."

* * *

There was no way out of it. She should have known. The high wizarding council would have known that they were effectively trying to trap some of the most devious, cunning trickster in all the kingdoms. If they were going to issue such a decree, they'd have to make it water-tight. And it was. She'd done nothing but study and research for the last six months since the day the appeal letter came, and she couldn't find a single crack let alone a loophole.

Four months remained, and the deadline felt like it was rushing up on her. The council had already sent one letter reminding her of her obligation. The offers had finally ceased, replaced by announcement cards as magic handlers across the kingdoms slowly capitulated, bowing to the council's rule. The nuptials brought some letters expressing regret that their offer hadn't been accepted, but expressing well wishes for her future, as yet to be decided marriage. She was disappointed to see that the likes of Grimtrex and Greylock hadn't been among those already sealed in a magical marriage. Both of their letters of intent were tucked away in a drawer, mixed in with a pile of as-yet available bachelors. She'd have liked to toss the whole lot in the rubbish bin, but pragmatic Violet insisted on keeping them. The maid was just as incensed as the rest of the castle at their beloved princess's fate and in her own way she was trying to help by keeping Sofia's options clear and organized. With each card embossed with gold scrolling and calligraphy, Violet dutifully matched the name of the new groom to his original letter of suit and removed it from the pile of potential matches. With only four months left, even Violet was gently urging her to choose from the best of a bad situation.

Not everyone was giving in without a fight though. Roland had sent another letter of appeal, this one garnering a response in a few scant days. It said much the same as the first appeal decision, just in more forceful tones. Sofia would not be exempt under any circumstances. But the concerns of one royal wouldn't be enough to over throw the long standing head of the magical world, and Roland couldn't risk outright war. The witches had a better shot of grabbing attention, though, by banning together and protesting as a cohesive unit. Every last single witch refused to marry, and their sentiment had gained some ground with smaller enclaves refusing as well.

Still, every day the announcements came, and every day there was one she dreaded most. She wasn't the only member of the castle beholden to the law.

But it didn't come. As casual as possible she inquired to her father no more than once a week, fearing detection in her interest. Every week he told her a variation of the same thing, "No darling, I haven't heard anything as of yet." Or, "There's nothing to announce." Or, "He hasn't made any decision yet."

She knew about the whispers. Lucinda assured her that most in the magic community assumed their fate was already sealed. It only seemed to make sense. If the princess was to marry someone of magic blood instead of another royal, then surely the Royal Sorcerer of her very kingdom was the obvious choice.

If she must marry, the choice was to obvious to her as well. It was to her heart. But it wasn't to be.

Because he hadn't offered.

* * *

They ate dinner in strained silence, the clink of silverware on fine china echoing loud in the grand dining room. Sofia sipped from her goblet of spring water, watching under her lashes as her sister fumed beside her, James drooped like a beaten dog across the table, her father scowled, and her mother quietly sniffed back tears.

One month. Thirty days.

The council meant business now. A second decree had arrived just that afternoon, in person, by a nervous apprentice. Sofia's and Cedric's presence had been required for the reading, so there could be no claim later that the meaning had been missed or misunderstood. Anyone resisting the law would be forcefully bonded to a suitor of the council's choosing. There would be no appeal afterwards, no recourse. The message was clear, the match would _not_ be to their liking.

Choose, it said without words, choose now or suffer the consequences. Until that moment Sofia hadn't realized how her resistance had lent strength to the defiance of others. She should have realized that, given her status as a public figure, she was a natural rallying point. The council would make her pay for her resistance. Vision of a leering Grimtrex floated through her mind. As the months following his pardon rolled past, there had been more than whispers tying him to the High Council. He'd been panting at their heels like an obsequious lap dog, and every month he'd restated his suit for her hand in a new letter. He had a vendetta against her. His continued pursuit wasn't interest or even desire for her position; revenge drove him, she was sure of it. If she was bound to him, he'd make her pay for turning Cedric against him and thus ruining his chance to take over all the kingdoms.

The entire family stood present, including Violet and Baileywick, as the apprentice read off the new decree. Cedric stood rigidly at her side, not giving her so much as a sideways glance. Ever since the original law, every interaction between them had turned strained. When the letter was handed over to her father, rendering the message officially delivered and accepted, Cedric had done no more than turn on his heels and stalk out of the room without a single word.

Hours later, as they sat at dinner, the members of her family remained much in the same mood as they had when the news was first announced, but it was James, not Amber that surprised her by breaking the silence with a fiercely explosive anger.

"Are we really going to sit here and pretend nothing has happened?"

"James," her father intoned, his voice surprisingly soft.

"No, Father, I think I've been quiet enough." The prince looks around the table, his expression shockingly young in his handsome face. "Are we really not going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

Their mother cleared her throat softly. "What do you mean?"

"The solution is obvious."

It was Sofia's turn to speak, her voice just as soft as their father's had been. "James, please—"

"Come on, Sof. I know the answer. So does Dad, so does Mom. Hell, even Ambers suggested it, to me at least."

Her brows rose at that, looking to her blond sister, who blushed.

"Be that as it may," Sofia began, fighting to keep her voice light and soft, or she feared she'd start screaming her frustrations like a crazy woman.

James cut her off again, but gently. "I know you hate this law. It's unfair and disgraceful and damn well immoral, but it looks like you really have no choice. And you need to take advantage of what little choice you have left before that cursed council chooses for you." He spared a glance at their father who had remained uncharacteristically quiet, his slips pressed into a thin, hard line. "I'm sure at this point even Dad couldn't object."

He turned his soft, sincere hazel eyes back to her and Sofia clenched the linen napkin in her lap to keep from trembling, whether from sadness or rage she wasn't sure. Neither were directed at her brother, knowing he meant well, but at the situation she'd been placed into. "Don't—" she began, but her brother was already speaking.

"Why don't you just marry Cedric?"

Sofia took a long moment to compose herself, drawing on all her training to keep the waiver from her voice. "Because he's never asked me."

* * *

James tried not to shuffle his feet, reminding himself that he was the soon-to-be king of Enchancia, not a nine year old boy begging help with a broken window. He drew his shoulders back, affecting a confidence he didn't feel, lifted his hand and knocked. He ignored the twin gargoyles that leered down on him as he waited.

"Knocking," he heard a dry voice drawl from inside, "what a novel approach. Yes, what is it?"

The door swung inward, revealing a rather bored looking sorcerer on the other side. If he was surprised that it was Prince James darkening his doorstep, he didn't show it.

"Cedric, good, you're here." James rubbed his palms together, unsure where to begin. Cedric glared for a moment before stepping back, ushering the prince in with no more than an impatient wave.

The sorcerer took his customary place on his stool and crossed his arms. "Where else would I be? Well, get on with it. What is it you want?"

Over the years as his schooling in ruling increased, James had had less and less occasion to approach the other man outside of official meetings with his father present. He forgot how unnerving Cedric could be at times. Before answering the other man's question, he took a moment to examine him. If anything, the years between James's child hood and adulthood had been kind to the sorcerer. Still lanky, the man was no longer waspishly thin. He finally had some _substance_ to him. The extended awkwardness of his twenties had given way to a more mature, self-confident man of his mid-thirties. James knew Cedric would never be considered classically handsome, not by the standards of the princesses that were his peers, but he suspected that Cedric wasn't completely objectionable, even, and here he had to dig uncomfortably deep, attractive in a way.

The prince shook himself, realizing the man in question was still staring at him with thinly veiled impatience. He sighed, forgetting any diplomatic tactics he might have thought to employ. "I'm going to level with you, Cedric."

The sorcerer raised a brow at that. James pressed on.

"You must know I'm here about this law."

"I know nothing of the sort," he replied, crossing his arms with a sniff.

"Well, that's why I'm here. I want to know why you haven't made a decision yet."

Cedric blinked at him, clearly expecting a lecture instead of a simple question.

James shrugged, trying to offer some olive branch to make the other man drop his obvious defensiveness. "Is it ... I don't know, lack of options?"

Cedric snorted inelegantly. "I'll have to assume that's what everyone thinks. Cedric the screw up hasn't capitulated to a ridiculous, demeaning law because of _lack of options_. Not that I might have a shred of dignity."

"That wasn't ... I didn't mean ..."

Cedric swept off his stool, a wand appearing in his hand with a puff of smoke. As he waved it over the empty workspace a cascade of envelopes filled the table top, some tipping onto the floor for lack of space.

James stuttered into silence, only able to offer a stunned, "Whoa."

"Yes," Cedric plucked out a letter at random. "This one is from Madame La Magie from Rudestan. Odious woman, mid-fifties with a dozen poodles she dresses up and call her babies." He tossed it carelessly aside, retrieving another. "Ah! Veronique Degouche of Freezenburg. Witch, late twenties, very pleasing ... attributes." He tossed it away as well, pulling another. "Gerogette Kingsley, Sorceress, old classmate from Hexly, sweet woman who volunteers with under privileged children in her spare time." That one met the other two in some dark corner. "Shall I go on?"

"I think I get the point," James rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So you've had your share of offers, both odious and some not so bad. But that still doesn't answer the question."

"Because," Cedric enunciated slowly as if speaking to an imbecile, "I don't want to marry any of them."

James snorted. "Well you and everyone else affected by this law, I suppose. But with this new decree ..."

"Yes," the sorcerer sighed, "It does complicate matters. I suppose I shall have to choose, won't I? I don't fancy the council stuffing me with Madame La Magie just for spite."

"Not you too," James groaned, rolling his eyes to the heavens and heaving a weary sigh. Cedric looked at him in confusion. "I can't be the only one to see the solution. Trust me, I'm not that bright. Cedric, you stubborn old bastard, just marry Sofia."

Though it was subtle, James still saw the moment the sorcerer went very still. Saw the flicker of some unnamed emotion across his cold face before turning his back to the prince. "That is not an acceptable solution."

"What! Why the hell not?"

"It wouldn't be appropriate."

"Appropriate?" The prince blinked stupidly. "But it makes perfect sense. You'd both be able to stay here in Enchancia. You're lives would barely change."

Cedric snorted, a dark, humorless sound.

"What? If I am failing to see the downside, please tell me."

"You don't know a thing about magical bonds, do you?" The older man snarled, a level of hostility creeping into his voice that James had never heard before. "These marriages, these _sealings_ of power, bind two magic handlers together. They can only be undone under certain circumstances, but it's very rare and very difficult, sometimes impossible. The whole point of this law is to introduce new blood into the mix. Procreation," Cedric hissed when the younger man continued to stare at his cluelessly, "The point is to procreate. Bonds come with more than trite vows about 'to have and hold'. They come with charms against things like infidelity. Many I'm sure will willingly enter into sexless marriages expecting they can claim infertility when no children are produced. How long before the council takes more extreme measures to ensure the future of the bloodlines?"

"So, you don't want to marry Sofia because you're afraid you'll have to ... sleep with her?"

At that Cedric muttered an oath so vial even James blushed.

"Look, she's my sister and that thought is, admittedly, disturbing." James shook himself all over to remove the unwanted imagine in his mind. "But, you don't know that will actually happen, what you said about the council. And, Sof seems to like you just fine." He scratched the back of his neck, struggling with the new, uncomfortable turn of their discussion.

"Oh yes," the sorcerer drawled dramatically, "I've always dreamed of a marriage of forced intercourse for the sake of procreation where my wife _'likes me just fine'_. Not to mention the part where she's a teenager I had a hand in raising.

"If coercion is to be my fate, I think I'd prefer bowing to the decision of the council. At least we'd both have no choice in the matter. Then we could hate each other with equanimity like civilized people."

"So you're telling me you'd rather enter into a miserable marriage forced upon you, than one of relative comfort? Sofia wouldn't hate you. She'd understand the situation was forced upon you both. She'd ... understand."

Cedric's shoulder shook as a low, mirthless chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Yes, she is ever so _understanding_."

"She would," James insisted. "She wouldn't hold anything against you."

"Well," Cedric rubbed his eyes tiredly, his voice dipped in acid, "That is ever so comforting to know she won't hold it against me when I'm forced to violate her."

James went quiet at that and Cedric could see the slow turning wheels finally clicking into place. He almost felt a sense of pity towards the prince. Almost. "You really have no idea the lengths wizards will go to to achieve what they deem necessary. The decree is the public face of their plan. Merlin only knows what scheming is going on behind the scenes. If magic handlers don't start pumping out a new generation of magical brats, god help us what they'll do next. At least if Sofia marries someone else she'll know who her enemy is. She won't do so with me. She'll give me every benefit of the doubt, just as you said. And I really do not like— cannot think on what measures she'd _understand_. "

"And that really is the extent that I can bear to think on it, James." He heaved a long suffering sigh. "Please do not ask me to explain any further, just know that I would not be the savior that you are looking for."

* * *

( _Here's where the flow of the story starts to break down. I have no segue way for how I got from Cedric's reluctance to Sofia being desperate enough to think it's a good idea to get him drunk and seduce him. I thought about a scene where for some reason she encounters Grimtrex and he rather gloating and leeringly lays out his plans for their marriage, and it frightens and disgusts her enough to become desperate. Or changing the circumstances so that she doesn't plan to trick Cedric, perhaps they really do just get drunk while commiserating their fate and accidentally end up sealed together in a magical marriage. I don't think I like the idea of Sofia out-right drugging him, but I decided to post the lemon as I originally wrote it. In my defense, I did think it up while half awake, so things like reason were not of any great concern at the time.)_

The world swam in and out of focus, his surroundings melding and flickering, a confusion of soft light and ubiquitous castle corridors. She was pushing him into an unfamiliar room. It was far too ... _white_ , too sweet to be anything like his tower. Even the coverlet on the bed was alabaster satin, the edges trimmed in quaint purple roses. He snorted inelegantly. Her bedroom, it had to be. Why it was funny though, he had no idea. The alcohol churning through his brain made everything surreal and slightly absurd.

She was kissing him, which he knew couldn't be real. But she was. Sofia had him pressed up against the door, kissing him, running her over his chest. He his hands tangled with hers as he attempted to push her away, but without conviction. The next thing he knew her lips were on his neck and his cock rose at the warm, wet heat of her mouth on his skin. Her hands tore at his cloths. The heavy sorcerer's robes fell to the floor and then he was moving. Floating. Falling. Suddenly on his back staring up at a ruched canopy of lavender satin while her hot little hands pressed his shirt open before going to work on the placket of his pants.

Hot breath ghosted across his lips. "Kiss me Cedric, please," she pleaded, her voice shivering down the center.

His hand rose of its own accord, cupped the back of her head and drew her down. He kissed her. _He_ kissed _her_. He wasn't supposed to be kissing her, but here he was doing exactly that. She was meant for someone else, someone better, someone ... not him. Long months, nearly a year of denial, and it all crumbled to dust with one breathy request from her lips.

 _Fuck it_ , he decided. In his drunken stupor, now seemed an exceptional time to abandon his morals.

Her lips pulled away, leaving him, and he moaned dismally at the loss. The canopy spun, turning in improbably circles, time losing all meaning.

And then ...

Then ...

Hands, warm, smooth hands reached inside his pants, drawing out his stiff cock. Breath drifted over him, scalding, and then her tongue touched him in a brief, tentative flick. He groaned his approval. _Her tongue, oh gods_. She licked at him without rhythm or skill, but the Gods be damned if it didn't feel _good_. The ridiculous dainty coverlet bunched between his fingers as he gripped the bed beneath him, needing some measure of grounding. Her lips brushed across the tip as she _breathed— licked— teased_. When she parted her lips encompassing the head ...

" _Fuck_ ," he growled, his hips lifting towards the heavenly temptation of her mouth.

She bobbed in tentative strokes that made him want to palm the back of her head, showing her exactly what he liked. Valiantly, he resisted the urge, gripping the blankets until his knuckles ached. Down, further down, she sank deeper with each pass before going too far and coming back up with an embarrassed cough.

"Sorry," he muttered, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Just seemed the gentlemanly thing to do.

The bed shifted and then she was over him, straddling his lap, naked as the day she was born. Inelegantly she grasped his cock and placed it at her opening. She wasn't nearly aroused enough, too dry, and it took three determined downward thrusts before she broke him through her maidenhead. Her hands braced against his chest as she cringed, only half-way down his length. The magical vial on the bedstand glowed, drawing his blurry gaze. He blinked at it stupidly. The sight of the blood pooling at the bottom finally sobered him to reality.

The blood ... her virgin blood ...

She'd sealed them.

The lingering fog in his brain warned him that she'd done more than ply him with alcohol. His tongue rolled across the roof of his mouth, tasting traces of Lover's Bane (for arousal), Follyweed (for lowered inhibitions), and ... and something else, something that tugged at the back of his mind but he couldn't place it. The alcohol and the other two ingredients were enough. She'd planned it. The whole thing. She'd knowingly drugged and seduced him to save herself. Perhaps he should feel flattered that she'd chosen him.

He didn't.

He looked to her. She was staring at the glowing vial, her shoulders easing away some tension. When she finally looked at him, rage rolled through him in a red wave. The look he gave her told her plainly that he understood exactly what she'd done, what means she'd resorted to. A flush broke across her cheeks and she shifted nervously. The maneuver only settled her deeper onto him and her eyes rolled closed on a gasp.

"I think—" Her voice wavered. "I think that's enough to—"

She didn't finish, couldn't finish. When she braced her hands against his chest, about to pull away— to pull _off_ of him, he clasped her hips in startlingly strong hands, holding her still. Her eyes flew open wide.

"Oh no," his tight, grim smile was wolfish at best, and frightening at worst. He twisted suddenly, rolling her beneath his body, still joined. Sofia blinked up from her new position, startled. "You went to so much trouble to get me, _Princess_ , and now you have me."

In the dark his rumbled words sounded like a threat, just as he'd intended. The shiver that rocked through her curled his toes as she unwittingly clenched around him. He leaned in close enough to see the bright sliver of fear in her eyes as the slow realization came that she'd made a dire miscalculation. His hips pressed forward, just a little, just enough to make her gasp, before withdrawing completely. Sofia only had a moment to blinked up at him in owlish confusion before he dropped his head, forcing her into a deep, decadent kiss. Her hands came up, clutching at the lapels of his open shirt.

Where she may have expected violence, he kept her off balance by sliding his tongue against hers in a kiss achingly tender. Slowly, she began to relax underneath him.

 _That's it, little mouse, don't fight it. Don't struggle. I promise you won't even see the teeth until they've swallowed you whole._

While he plied her with kisses, his hand brushed up her thigh, finding the soft, dry warmth of her sex. He touched her softly, gently stroking the quivering flesh until she began to tremble all over. He left her mouth open on an amazed pant and ghosted his own downward. Tenderly, he left little love bits across the swell of her breast. The nipple he took into his mouth plumped enticingly, eager for the sensation of his tongue. Sofia moaned, her building arousal evident by his slicked fingers. They rolled over the beaded pearl of her clit before a single digit dipped inside. She arched, keening as he slowly, methodically stroked, letting the pleasure build. He suckled her other breast until that nipple also stood out proud, glistening from his attention.

When he deemed her ready, he pushed a second finger inside. She gasped, squirming, drawn closer and closer. When she opened those innocent, guileless blue eyes, pinning him with a pleading stare, it was his undoing. He replaced his finger with the head of his manhood, demonstrating her inadequate folly with one smooth, silky stroke that buried him three-quarters of the way inside.

"Oh!" She gasped, clutching his forearms.

He pulled almost all the way out before sliding further in with a torturously slow thrust. Beneath him, Sofia whimpered, but it was a sound of pleasure. The pain was gone, as was his intention. _Silly, stupid girl_ , he didn't want to hurt her. Now that she'd trapped him, he wanted to show her the exact caliber of man she'd tied herself to.

He continued to pull back and press forward in a slow rhythm. His voice dropped into a velvety thrum that slithered between them in the dark. "Is this what you wanted? Did you take this into your careful calculations when you thought to use me to save yourself from your more _unsavory_ prospects?"

She didn't answer, or perhaps couldn't, as she mewled. He felt her tightening, fluttering. Her hands clutched at his shoulders. Still, he _fucked_ her so slowly, his hips moving at an achingly tender pace meant to seduce her mind as well as her body.

"Did you fear what the likes of Grimtrex or Greylock would do to you, to this delicious body of yours, if you'd been forced into a bond with one of them?"

Her neck arched back, her sobs reaching a pitch, unable to ignore the commands of her body— of what his body was doing to hers. He went just a little faster, a little harder, his control shaking. The rage _he_ felt envisioning what those other sorcerers surely had planned for her burned through his veins like acid.

"Did you think," he was panting now, sweat beading down his spine, "that I was the better option? The ... _safer_ option?"

She tried to open her eyes, tried to speak but all that came out was a choked, "I—" before his hips snapped forward harder, stealing her breath. Her eyes pinched closed, her body rising, her senses filling with only him.

He braced himself on his elbows, putting his mouth close to her ear. "Did it not occur to you what _I_ would do to you?"

Her hands wrapped around his back, clutching helplessly at his shirt as she gasped and moaned. Close, so close.

"You're going to come, Sofia," he whispered in her ear. "You're going to come because I, your claimed husband, made you come." He bit her ear lobe, sucking fiercely as she sobbed and sobbed. Such pleasure. Such, such pleasure. Pleasure she never expected, never asked for, but wanted. Now, yes, she wanted. He'd make her want. Make her long for things she never imagined. Make her long for him. He released her ear with a soft, wet pop. "I'm going to make you come again and again."

"Yes," she murmured, finally finding her voice, "Yes, yes, _please_ , yes ..."

He slid a hand beneath her head, fisting his fingers in her hair. The other hand encompassed her breast, tweaking the sensitive bud of her nipple. "I want you to come," he growled, punctuating each word with a hard, rocking thrust, "and when you do, I want you screaming My. Fucking. Name."

Sofia cried out softly as she began to break, trembling over the edge. He felt it in the rush of heat over his cock, in the way her nails dug into his shoulders. "Oh gods, _ohgods_ ," she sobbed.

He pinched her nipple hard enough to cause a quick gasp of pain.

"Cedric!" She corrected on a sharply indrawn breath. Tighten and release, she stroked him with her walls. "Oh gods, _Cedric_ ..."

He nuzzled her neck, murmuring, "Good girl."

It was a good thing he was drunk, otherwise he'd have come himself from the feel of her. As it was, he stilled to catch his breath.

With the euphoria of her first orgasm fading, Sofia came a little back to her senses. Cedric was still locked deeply inside her. He hovered over her, the warmth of his breath wafting over her face, smelling a caramel liquor and dark tea. She dared to open her eyes, and found a burning sense of rage looming down on her. She swallowed, her throat thick with guilt at her hasty, panicked plan.

"I bet it didn't occur to you," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous in the dark. It rose goosebumps across her naked breasts. "What I might do to you if I ever had you in my bed. You thought you'd ply me with alcohol, slip just far enough down my cock to seal the bond, and then, what, I wonder? Did you think I'd be too embarrassed, too shy, perhaps too timid come morning to ever expect—" Here he shifted his hips, moving again, making her breath catch on a roll of quicksilver pleasure. "—to ever _demand_ any further rights to my own wife?"

She began to shake underneath him, squirming when his thrusts lit up some secret spot inside her. His anger made her feel ashamed of what she'd done, but it was difficult to process anything except the newly blossoming pleasure of what he was awakening inside her. "I—" she gasped, uncertain what she meant to say. What could she say? There was no defense against her actions. There was nothing to say— sounds, only incoherent sounds rolled of her lips— pants, moans, sighs.

"Did you never imagine in your sweet little fantasies how I might desire your body? That I would _want_ to make you come."

She bit her lip, whining, because she had imagined. She'd dreamed of a world where Cedric might desire her for his sealed wife. But never, never had she imagined this— What he could do to her. What he could make her _feel_. She was rising, coiling, condensing down to a single hot point of need that began and ended where his body joined with hers. He wanted her. _He_ wanted _her_! The knowledge lit up her insides, suffusing her with joy as well as pleasure.

He sat up, splaying his knees wide and held her legs open. Sofia blushed to see him looking down on where his body joined with hers. His thumb came down to rub the sensitized nub of her clitoris. She choked on a gasp, gurgling incoherent sounds of ecstasy as his touch and his thrusts and his desire all coalesced until she was fairly vibrating. Her head pushed back into the pillows, her chest thrust up as she cried out. She shook until she thought she might shatter, vibrating until she collapsed back onto the bed in languid exhaustion. Cedric didn't allow her to rest, snaking his hands up over her belly, tweaking her nipples until she was forced to acknowledge the demand for her attention.

Her eyes rolled open, uttering an intelligent, "Nugh?"

But he didn't speak, merely watched her with an unnerving intensity until his ministrations began to ignite her again. He smiled when she shivered, less frightening this time and more wolfish. She never expected to see such an expression on Cedric's face. All previous attempts at diabolical behavior proved an utter failure on his part; he was always too tender at heart to truly be evil. But now, right this moment, Sofia begins to wonder how much deviousness really lurked beneath the surface. At the moment he seemed utterly horrible for holding his hips so still while his hands worked her sensitive breasts into a state of wanton arousal. Her hips began to move of their own accord, needing more sensation. His grin turned into a snarl as his eyes roll back and closed.

He let her go on for a few moments, then pulled away. Sofia found herself rolled onto her stomach. His hands grasped her hips, coaxing them up until she was kneeling on all fours, blushing and confused. The heated head of his manhood parted the petals of her sex, the slide so easy now. So slick, so wet. His used his knees wedged between hers to part her legs further, allowing him to sink deeper than before. She whimpered with the smallest amount of pain.

"Shhhh," he soothed, running soft hand over her back, easing the tension gathered there. His hips pressed tightly against her, rocking with a slight circular movement, stirring her insides to liquid fire.

When she came apart this time, her limbs trembled so badly, from pleasure and exhaustion, that even his hands wrapped around her hips couldn't keep her up. She collapsed flat onto her stomach with Cedric laid out on top of her. She moaned helplessly as he continued to slowly grind against her core, hitting some deep, undiscovered place inside her. So much skin, so much sensation, so much pleasure, her nerve-endings hummed on overload. When the wet warmth of his mouth kissed the nape of her neck it proved too much. She clutched at the sheets, trying to muffle her involuntary sounds against the mattress.

"That's it, Baby," he crooned in her ear, his mellifluous voice hitting a note of tenderness she'd never heard before, "Once more. I want you to come with me."

She was going to. There was no stopping it now. Too much, it was all too much. The hot, wet friction of him inside her, the heat of his bare chest against her back, even the scratch of the clothing that still hung off of him, the note of affection in his voice. She didn't deserve any of it. She'd lied to him, tricked him, and some how she knew this was her punishment. _Be careful what you wish for_. As Cedric said, she'd wanted him, and now she had him. He'd never be content with some bland, sexless marriage of convenience. She hadn't expected _this_ when she hatched her half-baked plan. She'd been prepared to accept a future devoid of things like pleasure, or passion, or love. She never expected, never hoped — And now that she had it, she never wanted it to end.

His careful strokes began to lose rhythm, but compensated with speed and force. The angle pressed him further against that unknown spot and she began to tense, nails tearing at the sheets. "Please, Cedric," she writhed beneath him, his breath heating her ear, "I can't— I can't take— any more, please."

"Yes, you can," he soothed, smoothing a hand down her ribs. That same hand wedged itself beneath her hips, cupping her monds. His fingers parted her folds, found the pearl of her clit and _stroked_. She jerked back against him, straining. The scream that warbled out of her throat died on a hoarse moan. He groaned a low masculine sound into her ear as he stuttered into stillness above her. The heated length of his manhood pulsed against her insides, filling her with his essence.

As the heat of desire faded away, the reality trickled down her spine like a bucket of ice water and she began to shake. She'd just had sex with Cedric. They were sealed now, married against his wishes. She wanted to run, to hide from him, from the anger that was sure to simmer over once the ecstasy cooled in his veins. What she really wanted was more of his touch, his voice, soft and soothing like she'd never heard before. She wanted to curl up in the comfort of his arms.

He pulled out of her with a low hiss and rolled away.

She curled her arm tight to her chest, drawing her legs together from their wanton sprawl. She couldn't work up the courage to move, to draw a blanket over her slowly cooling body. Cedric sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched with his fingers laced through his hair. The tense set of his back warned her against drawing attention to herself.

He staggered when he stood, a poignant reminder of what she'd done to get him here. All her fault. This was all her fault. Tears stung her eyes. Slowly, methodically, he did up his pants, buttoned his shirt and tucked it in. He slipped into his shoes and snatched his robe off the floor. She held still, even though her wanted to curl into a miserable ball. To pull a blanket over her head and hide.

When there was nothing left to collect, no more clothing to set to rights, he finally turned to look at her. His flat, cool gaze took in the whole of her nude state in one swift, dismissive sweep. She felt a needle of pain jab her heart when he turned away without a word.

"Cedric—" What was she doing? She should let him leave. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do to fix this. He turned back, one elegantly lifted brow mocking her. "I'm—" she choked and tried again. "I'm sorry."

His snort was pure disdain. He sauntered back to the bed and she almost drew away. With one hand braced on the bed, he used to other to softly sweep the hair from her ear. His voice was a silken whisper, his breath wafting across her cheek. "No. Not yet. But you will be."

Her eyes widened with uncertain fear as he pecked a kiss to her temple then spun on his heels and stalked from the room without another word. Only then did Sofia finally give into the tremors that wracked her slender frame. She stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to muffle the sob of dismay. What had she done? Oh, what had she done?

As the room blurred before her eyes, her mind fought to focus on something other than the sorrow threatening to swallow her whole. At least her plan had been a success. She and Cedric were sealed in a magical marriage and the council could no longer bond her unwillingly to the likes of Grimtrex. She blinked the tears from her eyes, focusing on the precious vial and realized with a shock that it was gone.

* * *

Author's Note: So that was ... I don't really know what that was. I have some thoughts/explanations for some of the things that went on in this scene, like the third ingredient Cedric can't readily identify in the concoction she gave him (it's Freewill Flowers, so his self-agency wasn't completely taken away). And then there are the other things I haven't developed yet, like what does the vial do, except bind them together? I have no idea.

I'm actually hoping this idea dies here and now and I don't have to worry about yet another unfinished story. :P

Still, reviews are greatly appreciated. They are my own little addiction. I love them! :D So, thoughts? Feelings? Requests? Ideas? Anything. Please leave a contribution in the little box. :)


	14. Sealed: Part II

Rating: M

Author's note: I couldn't help myself, y'all. Here is a second installment to the much requested Sealed.

I have decided that I did not like the idea of Sofia drugging Cedric. At least not for continuing the story. So for anything here on out, she got him very drunk.

* * *

Sealed Part II: The Vows

* * *

King Roland was just on his way to breakfast when Baileywick approached, presenting a thick cream-colored envelope on a small silver tray. The king recognized it as one of the many wedding announcements sent by the High Wizard Council. None thus far had been personally addressed to him. He picked it up, breaking the seal with steady hands. The steward bowed, ready to take his leave, but Roland took pity on the man. Baileywick cared as much as any family member about the unfolding horror of the new marriage law.

"I seem to have left my glasses upstairs." The corner of the king's mouth twitched into a contrite smile. "Would you be so kind as to read it me, old friend?"

Only the smallest rise of his left eyebrow betrayed any surprise over the steward's steadfast aplomb.

"Certainly, Sire," Baileywick said. Taking the letter, he opened it with a precise flick of the wrist and read aloud. "The Grand High Wizarding Council would like to offer their sincere congratulations to the Kingdom of Enchancia on the recent sealing of Princess Sofia to—"

Roland's lips pressed together to keep the bottom one from trembling. What had Sofia done? Whatever she decided she'd done it without the input or consent of her family.

Baileywick regained his composure to read on. "To Cedric the Sensational, on May the Fifth of this the present year. Forthwith the council withdraws its earlier decision to bond Princess Sofia to Grimtrex the Good, and Cedric the Sensational to Veronique Degouche. The Sealing invoked is henceforth binding. Only a unanimous decision from the High Council may render it asunder. Yours With Sincerity, High Wizard Prolaxius Anzelgard."

Only the smallest tremor though the paper and the palest flush across his cheeks showed that the steward also felt the anger slowly creeping into the king's chest.

With all his composure, Roland kept his voice even. "Baileywick, if you'd be so kind, please instruct Cedric to meet me in my study. _Now_."

* * *

Cedric rolled the delicately made crystal vial between his fingers, contemplating the vividly red fluid within. It didn't amount to much, a few drops at most, but it sealed their fates together tighter than any ceremony or vows. Had she known when she created this vessel what old magic she'd invoked? Had she truly stopped to contemplate the consequences?

A prim knock brought him out of his maudlin thoughts. He tucked the vial away beneath his shirt and prepared for the coming battle. He was far too hung-over for this day. He never drank, and so didn't have any ready-made cure on hand. As Sofia discovered, he became a bit of a bastard when intoxicated.

He opened the door to find Baileywick glaring at him over his pince-nez. Cedric glared back, reminding himself that, for once, he'd done nothing wrong.

"The king demands your presence for an audience in his study right away."

 _I'm sure he does_ , Cedric thought sourly, but merely gave a tight nod. Smoothing down his lapels, he went directly down the stairs, leaving the steward to follow at his discretion. He'd been awaiting this summons since the sun rose. It was something of a relief to finally have the confrontation imminent.

* * *

Cedric had barely taken his seat before Roland thrust the council's announcement beneath his nose.

"Care to explain this?" he growled with thinly controlled anger. "Neither of you gave any indication that this was the path you'd choose. And what does this mean, the _Sealing entered into_? I've not seen that on any of the announcements Sofia has shown me before."

Cedric regarded the ruddy flush over the king's face, weighing the options. "If I may, I believe Princess Sofia should also be present for this discussion."

"You think you can hide behind her skirts? That I'll be lenient if she's here to defend you?"

"Hardly," Cedric snorted, abandoning all decorum, "just that she'll be ever so much more capable to describe the manner in which we were sealed. As for why _she_ chose it, you'll have to ask her. I was not privy to that information."

Roland's face loosened in a moment of surprise, before tightening over. He glared, but the sorcerer only stared back showing a rare equanimity.

"Baileywick," Roland bellowed.

The steward appeared at once, evidently waiting just beyond the door.

He inclined his silver head in a bow. "Sire?"

"Please inform Princess Sofia that I require her presence right away." The steward turned to obey, but the king stopped him with a raised hand. He sighed, resigned. "And, please tell Miranda to join us as well."

The elder man bowed again and was gone in a swish of tailcoats.

An uncomfortable silence fell as they waited. Roland sat, elbows leaning upon his desk, fingers interwoven as he continued to glare. The little muscle in his jaw ticked as his teeth ground together. Cedric sat still, effecting an impassive air he did not feel. His hands itched to rub at the headache gathering between his temples. The sunlight streamed brightly through the high windows, stabbing straight through his eyes to the back of his brain.

A shy knock admitted not the princess nor the queen but a young maid. At the king's admittance she nudged the door open, bobbing a hasty curtsy while balancing a silver tray topped with a heavy tea service.

"M'ster Baileywick sent me with yer mornin' coffee, yer Highness."

Settling the rattling tray upon the side board, she served the king first, placing a steaming cup of black coffee before him on the desk. He thanked her but left it untouched. Cedric accepted his own cup with a nod, declining any additives. The strong smell made him wince and he could feel himself pale as nausea rolled in his stomach, but he forced himself to drink. He needed all the fortitude he could get for this interview.

As the maid left them alone again, Roland watched him with sharp eyes.

"Are you hung over?" he asked with undisguised incredulity. The sorcerer gave every impression of a man suffering from too much drink, but the conclusion did not follow in this case; Cedric never drank that Roland ever saw. Avoided it, in fact.

 _Another question for your daughter_ , Cedric wanted to say, but bit down on the words. He'd begun drinking before Sofia's arrival last night, so he couldn't lay all the blame at her feet, much as he'd like to. He sipped his coffee to cover his hesitation, then said, "Just a headache."

Roland's huff told him he thought the explanation complete horseshit, but Cedric didn't care.

There came another knock, bolder this time.

"Come in," Roland called, only shifting his hard gaze from the sorcerer when the door swished softly open to reveal Sofia dressed in a prim gown of pale blue. Her cheeks glowed freshly pink, but beneath her eyes he spied the deep purple evidence of too little sleep. Her eyes also appeared slightly puffy, perhaps a little red rimmed, but her posture remained straight, her shoulders square. If she had been upset, it didn't show in her expression now, which appeared carefully neutral and smooth.

He expected Cedric to jump to his feet, to beg her intervention on his behalf. He expected the sorcerer to grovel the way he had on the day he failed to usurp Roland himself and take over the kingdom all those years ago. What he did not expect was the chilled silence that filled the room. Sofia's eyes swept from himself, to the letter on the desk, then finally to the man— her new husband— seated before the desk. Her lower lips gave the tiniest tremble before raising her chin.

She sat primly down, only the slight intake of breath and the stiffening of her spine betraying any discomfort on her part. Cedric's eyes flicked to her, then quickly away.

Roland's own gaze switched between the unlikely couple, surprised to find an expression of fragile dignity on his daughter's face, and a stony mask of ... _anger_? on Cedric's. As a king surrounded by men of grand egos, Roland had made it a practice to notice these small tells of body language. The muscle in Cedric's jaw twitched, telegraphing how hard he clenched it. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and he wouldn't— absolutely would not look at his newly bonded wife.

Clearing his throat in the icy silence, Roland lifted the council's letter for all to see. "Perhaps you can shed some understanding on this, Sofia. Cedric here has refused to comment."

She took the letter in slightly trembling hands and read. With each word a heaviness seeped into her eyes. If Roland didn't know any better, he'd swear it was the weight of guilt. Once she finished her perusal, she answered, "I believe the letter makes the situation quite clear."

Roland stared, awaiting further explanation, but when she offered none, he took the letter back from her outstretched hand. "It explains very little," he gritted through his teeth, growing tired of these guessing games. "I had no notion that you, either of you, intended to enter into this arrangement with one other."

"Neither did I," Cedric grumbled under his breath, so lightly Roland almost missed it.

Sofia's eyes shifted to the sorcerer for just a moment, before snapping them away again. She dropped her gaze to the floor. This time Roland knew it was guilt in her expression.

"Look—" Roland began, ready to take the hard tract, but the door opened again, this time admitting his wife.

Miranda smiled brightly, if somewhat bemused at the gathering. Her hand fluttered over Sofia's shoulder in an affectionate pat before she moved behind Roland's desk to bestow a kiss to his cheek. "What's this, Rolly? Baileywick wouldn't say why you wanted to see me, only that it was urgent."

Roland cleared his throat, obviously unhappy to be the bearer of this particular news. "I am sorry for the secrecy, Dear, and equally sorry for the shock I must give you."

The queen shook her head slightly, indicating that she didn't understand. Her eyes went to Sofia, who kept her head down, hands clenched together in her lap. Cedric gazed out the window, ignoring them all.

"Here, sit," Roland offered her his own chair. He picked the letter off the desk, fingering it in unsure hands. He wondered where to begin. "It would seem that last night our daughter …" He waved his hand vaguely, words escaping him. He tried again, "That Sofia and Cedric …" Finally, in frustration with his own lack of understanding, he handed her the letter.

Miranda raised the parchment, scanning it once before going over it again more carefully. Her lips parted, her expression unreadable. When she set the paper down, she was silent a long time.

"Well?" Roland insisted when he could take it no longer. No one was reacting as he expected them to, and it was becoming increasingly frustrating.

"Cedric," the queen said inquiringly. The sorcerer turned his head to look her way, wary. The queen went on, "I seem to recall being told that when your father was royal sorcerer, your family lived in a house on the castle grounds."

Cedric frowned. "Yes, we did. A cottage, really, on the western edge of the gardens. It's still there so far as I know."

"But you never thought to live there yourself?" she asked mildly, ignoring Roland's suspicious, confused glances.

"No," Cedric said, answering slowly, unsure where she meant to go with these seemingly unrelated questions. "The cottage worked well for a family, but I found the tower better suited to my own modest needs."

Miranda nodded sagely. "As a bachelor, sure. But you are a married man now. I cannot very well imagine you and Sofia crowded into the tower. And once you start having children …"

She trailed off meaningfully. Cedric stared at her, only suspicion and a vague sense of déjà vu keeping his jaw from dropping. He realized that at just that moment she reminded him quite forcefully of her daughter. He could see where Sofia got her cool head determination.

Sofia's head snapped up to stare at her mother, and Roland sputtered something indignant. Cedric continued looking at the queen, recognizing a challenge behind her bland words, but unable to discern what it was she meant to charge him with. His head pounded too much to reason or guess; he decided to simply ask.

"What is that you are suggesting, your Highness?"

Miranda smiled. "I'm suggesting that you and Sofia take up residence in this cottage as soon as it can be made ready."

Three voices rose at once, overlapping in protest: Cedric's, Roland's and Sofia's. Sofia won out.

"Mother, I don't see that its necessary for Cedric and I to live together."

For the first time Cedric looked at her. Glared at her really. Sofia swallowed thickly, unable to look his way. She knew what she'd see, and that smoldering gaze would bring back things she'd rather not recall in present company. A flutter streaked through her belly, nonetheless.

"Actually," he drawled, a haughty malice snapping in his eyes, "perhaps it is a most sensible idea."

At that Sofia did look at him, her mouth agape. "Move into a house together? You can't really want that?"

"How would you purpose to know anything about what I want?" he asked, his tone mild, but his eyes cutting.

"I just mean—" her eyes lowered again, unable to match his gaze, "is it really necessary?"

Miranda answered, frowning at her daughter. "Of course, it's necessary, Darling. You are after all Cedric's wife."

Before Cedric could feel any hauteur over this, the queen turned her steady, sharp-eyed gaze upon him as well.

"And," she said with a mild emphasis, " _he is your husband_."

With four simple words the queen managed what all the king's blustering and glares had failed to make him feel: guilt.

 _She's you wife_ , that gaze said, _not your plaything, nor your burden_. He understood then the parameters of the dare he'd glimpsed in the queen's eyes. She meant for them to own the responsibilities of this mistake, together. She was placing a great deal of trust in him, he realized, to take care of her daughter. What had he ever done to earn such trust? He turned his eyes away and nodded silently.

"Now wait just one damn minute," Roland interrupted, his anger finally risen to its breaking point. "As far as I am concerned, no one has decided that this marriage, if it can be called that, will stand. This decree might bend Sofia to the council's rules, but she is still our daughter and any marriage requires the consent of the king, who I believe is still me."

Now Sofia raised her head, blue fire burning in her bright eyes. Cedric likewise favored the monarch with a curling sneer. For one moment he and his new bride were united in a common cause. For a year they'd been pushed around, tugged and tossed by the marriage decree deciding their fates. Now Roland dared to impose another kind of rule over them.

Sofia spoke forcefully. "The marriage decree is detestable. Loathsome, what they are forcing all magic-handlers to do against their will. I would never have submitted to it if I had a choice in the matter, if only for the principle of it. You've known as well as I that this deadline was coming, and the council showed their rule to be greater than yours when they overturned your appeal, though I do thank you for trying. I am bound to this decree against my will. They told me to choose. I chose Cedric."

Cedric looked at her then, his face a curious blend of quiet surprise mixed with distrust. Sofia kept her gaze steadfastly on her father.

Roland softened under that tremulous, courageous look.

"What has been asked of you, both of you," he added, waving a hand to include the sorcerer at her side, "is unfair. I just thought, Sofia, that you'd at least speak to your mother and I before making any rash decisions."

Sofia nodded, but said nothing. Yes, she could see how he'd think that, but she couldn't go back and undo what she'd done.

Roland sighed, his mind still filled with unanswered questions. "If," he said slowly, "either of you did wish to undo this marriage, now would be the time to speak."

Sofia shook her head. "No," she said softly.

"Cedric?" Roland asked when the man said nothing.

Cedric was staring out the window again. Absently his right hand drifted up to his chest. Beneath his shirt he could feel the hard edge of the vial where it hung hidden against his skin. "You do not understand," he said lowly, almost to himself, "it cannot be undone."

Pieces, like a puzzle, shifted into place, taking form in Roland's mind, birthing a terrible suspicion. _Cannot be undone_ sounded dismally final, and a long way from _I choose_ or _I want_. Again he examined the two of them, Sofia's red-rimmed guilty eyes and Cedric's quietly smoldering anger. The unresolved suspicion of alcohol lingering on a man that never drank. Sofia's fragile defensiveness over this "marriage" and Cedric's dismal resignation.

Sealing with a capital S.

The words: _Cannot be undone_.

Roland stared at his daughter then, held her defiant gaze until she could no longer met his eye, and dropped her own back to her lap. _Sofia?_ he wanted to say, _what have you done?_

"All right," the king pronounced finally, "things are set and beyond my control, it would seem. But as sovereign to both of you, I do have one decree of my own. There will be a public ceremony. A real wedding. The people will not accept this vague explanation of magic and bonds. You are royalty, Sofia, and it is your duty. And as her husband," he added sharply to the other man, "it is your duty as well. It must be soon if we are to salvage any reputation, before the deadline of the decree. That leaves three short weeks, though two would be better before word can spread too far.

"I will respect your choice, Sofia, but now you must respect my rule. I will not sanction this marriage until it is sealed under the proper authorities, that is God and your kingdom. In two weeks' time you both will wed and move into your new house together. Until that time, I expect you to respect your mother and I, and Cedric to respect his king and queen, and adhere to proper conduct. If anyone asks, you are betrothed and no more, and you will behave as such."

Sofia colored vibrantly at the unsaid implication.

"Is that all?" Cedric drawled testily. Less than one morning married into this family and already he'd reached the limits of his patience. "Well, no problem there. Now, if you will excuse me, your Highness, there is much I need to attend to. I have an entire life to upend, apparently."

The last he muttered under his breath, but Sofia still heard. She shot him a dismal, almost pained look.

"Fine, you may go." Roland dismissed him if only because he did no know what else to say to the man. Perhaps alone he could finally get answers from his daughter. But the moment Cedric was gone, whipping out the door without so much as a backwards glance at his bride-to-be, Miranda rose and took both Sofia's hands in hers.

"You look so very tired, Darling. Why not retire back to your room for a little rest. I'll have Violet draw you a bath."

"Thank you, Mother," Sofia mumbled, finally showing some of her frailty, allowing her mother to take care of her for what would probably be one of a few fleeting times left.

When they were alone, Roland took his wife gently by the shoulders, still uncertain of her true feelings on the matter. "Do you really think this wise, Miranda, forcing them together like this? I tell you something is wrong between them, beyond the inhumane compulsion of this decree. I fear Sofia has done something she'll regret."

She thought a moment, chewing on her bottom lip in a habit her daughter had adopted from her. "In marrying Cedric you mean?"

"Not exactly." Roland tried to put his unease into words. "More like _the way_ she married him. Neither seem happy about this union, but when he first arrived, Cedric appeared out right angry over it. I fear … I fear Sofia may have done something dishonest to make him marry her. But that's ludicrous, this is Sofia we're talking about. If anything, I should think it was the other way around."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Miranda frowned. Roland had no way to know, but James had confided in her about the talk he'd shared with the sorcerer. Knowing Cedric's reasons why he never asked for Sofia's hand as a convenient loophole, she'd been a little shocked to read the announcement. "I think you are right, something did happen between them, something that's caused this rift. But until either of them is ready to talk about it, there is nothing we can do. The wedding is necessary, I understand that, but it is also a formality. They are married already and for better or worse must face the consequences. They cannot do that if we keep Sofia cloistered away. Ever since she was a girl, we've raised her to own up to her mistakes."

"I know that, and normally I agree, but," Roland's face strained, uncomfortable fear tightening the skin around his eyes, "This is no scraped knee or misguided spat with a childhood friend. This is sending our daughter to live in seclusion with the man who is legally her husband. How much of a price are we willing to make her pay, Miranda?"

"Can you honestly tell me that you believe Cedric would ever hurt her?"

"As a servant, no. As her mentor, no. As her friend, absolutely no. But as her husband? One who already harbors great feelings of anger, possibly even betrayal? As a man? I'm less sure of the answer."

"Roland," she took his hands and held them to her heart, drawing him close to her. She waited until his eyes rose to see her face. "Cedric cares a great deal for Sofia. More than he is willing to admit to, I believe."

His brow crinkled skeptically.

"Trust me," she whispered fervently. "I know what I am talking about. Just, trust me."

"All right," he relented, shoulders stooping. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice either way."

"Good. Now," Miranda raised her brows, looking up at him with some skepticism of her own, "I'm more interested to know how you propose to pull off a royal wedding in just two weeks' time?"

"Oh, that," he smiled for the first time that day, "That's the easiest part. One word: _Amber_."

* * *

(A/N: Bit of a time jump here. This next scene takes place between Winifred and Cedric as he is preparing to attend his own wedding.)

"What's wrong, my darling?"

He sank down into the vanity chair burying his face in his hands. "Oh mother, how did I end up here?"

She patted his shoulder. "Now, now. Things are as they should be. I told you from the start that Sofia was a fine match."

"And I told you why I was against it."

"Yet here we are. You're sealed to the girl anyway, Ceddy. This wedding is merely a formality."

He paused, looked away and thought. At length he pulled a chain from the collar of his shirt. On its end dangled a small glass vial. It glowed faintly. The tiny light strengthened and ebbed in a steady pulse.

"Is that—" Winifred stepped forward, draw towards the beat of strong magic.

"Her blood. Only hers. And worse than you think. Saguine Virgintantus freely … _sacrificed_."

"Virgin blood, Cedric have you lost your mind?" she breathed in a harsh whisper, as if afraid they'd be overheard.

He tucked the vial back beneath the folds of his shirt. "Don't look at me. I didn't do this."

His mother crossed her arms, tapping her foot and waiting for an explanation. He sighed, wondering how to tell such a tale as this.

"I knew what was expected, the rumors, the whispers, but I never had any intention of bending to them. Sofia was my friend and my one-time pupil. I've known her since she was eight for Merlin's sake. I watched her grow from a girl and I couldn't—" He sighed and tried again. "I didn't want to think of her that way. Even when she came to me and begged for my help.

That bastard Grimtrex had weaseled his way into the council's good graces. He's convinced them to grant him a match with Sofia if she didn't make one before the deadline. Revenge, for his defeat so many years ago. I know because he told me himself. And still I hesitated. I wouldn't subject her to a future we'd both regret"

Winifred loosened her posture, her expression softening with understanding. She sat on the settee near him and motioned to the vial now hidden from sight. "Then how did you come by that?"

"I underestimated her tenacity. Gods know I'd done it before, but even this surpassed my expectations. Never again will I underestimate Sofia, especially when she's backed into a corner. She got me drunk," he admitted baldly. "Blisteringly, stinking, could barely walk on my own two feet drunk. She was … persuasive in her negotiations. My next clear conscious thought I was staring at the glowing vial sealing our fate, realizing what she'd done. I can't claim I was very kind to her after that."

"Cedric Gwyddien, do not tell me that you of all people abused that poor girl."

He winced, first and middle name, that was never good. "No, nothing like that. Just that my words and actions in the aftermath were not so kind as they could have been."

He certainly couldn't tell his mother how he'd fucked the girl within an inch of her life in an act of petty revenge.

She pursed her lips, taking this information with aplomb. Not so very surprising given his mother's pragmatic view of things. "Are you alluding that Sofia could be pregnant at this very moment?"

He winced again. "It is technically possible, though not very likely. You know how difficult it is to conceive a child of magic blood."

"Indeed. Cordellia was a blessing, but you, a second, you were my miracle baby. Magic children do take a certain degree of diligence."

He made a disgusted face. "Yes, hence this mad decree. You know very well this won't be their last. They are not going to force the entire magical community into matrimony and leave the results to chance. They'll ensure the production of new blood somehow."

"Are you actually complaining to your mother that someday soon you'll be made to bed your pretty new bride? This in one area in which you won't garner sympathy from me."

"This is Sofia we are discussing. How in the name of Hades am I supposed to—" He broke off, getting up to pace while shoving a frustrated hand through his hair. She watched, a shrewd expression on her dour face.

"You managed it once it would seem. Why do I get the impression that your distress stems not from the fact that bedding her bothers you, but that it doesn't bother you nearly as much as you think it should?"

He sighed, stopping to rest his head against the window pane. Outside a crush of people filed passed, guests at his wedding to a bloody princess. "I shouldn't want her. I can't." He closed his eyes. "I cannot deny that Sofia is grown. Look at the lengths she's gone to prove it. But she didn't do this out of love or happiness. She did it to save herself from an even more unsavory fate. I am not the husband she wanted, I am merely a convenient means of escape. The lesser of two evils."

"Then perhaps," his mother said slowly, "it is time for you to show her that you are not _the lesser_ of two evils."

He turned towards her, brow furrowed with a familiar worry. "What are you on about, Mother?"

"It is time to stop acting like the hapless victim and start acting like the powerful sorcerer you are."

"Merlin's Mushrooms," he groaned, going back to staring out the windows. "You're not going to suggest I use my marriage to try and steal the crown again, are you? I'm afraid my interest has waned, and as such so must yours."

"No, Sweetheart, I mean to suggest that you not enter into your marriage acting like the lesser party. Sofia is your wife and you are her husband. And," her brow arched savagely, "I noticed there's only her blood in that vial. That means you are holding all the cards."

Unconsciously his hand rose to cover the hidden vial. Its pulse beat against his palm, a living thing but without a will of its own, not unless he chose to shape it.

"Mother, I—" he began, but was interrupted by a sharp rap upon the door.

Goodwin's head poked in. "They're ready for you, Cedric."

* * *

Cedric took his place to the right of the alter, beside James who offered a heartening smile. His mother and father took their seats next to Cordellia and Calista in the first row. Cordy hadn't said much about her brother's impromptu nuptials and now she gave him a vaguely worried look. Next to her Calista beamed, sitting on her hands just to keep still. She gamboled in her seat, bouncing slightly with excitement.

 _At least someone aught to be happy about to today_ , he thought grimly. He gave her a small smile, despite his dark mood.

His family were really the only guests he could claim as his own, except perhaps Merlin and his surprising new wife Morgana. The two snuggled close together, canoodling like teenagers. Hatred to love turned, he supposed. The other guests, the many, many, other guests belonged to Sofia. Despite the two-week deadline Amber had managed to wrangle as many of Sofia's friends and acquaintances as could be convinced to attend on short notice. Apparently, that included quite a lot of people. He wondered disinterestedly if this was his new sister-in-law's way of out-classing him; showing him vividly the many discrepancies between him and his soon-to-be kingdom sanctioned wife. If it was, well, he certainly didn't need Amber's help with that.

Try as he might to tell himself that this ceremony didn't matter, his pulse still pounded. Rushing blood roared in his ears drowning out the din of the murmuring crowd and the harpist's gently plucked melody. The alter swam before his eyes and he prayed not to pass out.

The music changed. Taking their cue, the crowd rose to their feet, all turning to peer down the long aisle. A carpet of rich blue flowed down the aisle, passing through the rows of white chairs to an ornate bower festooned in purple roses. From its arched threshold out skipped a little sprite of a girl. She carried a small basket from which she littered great handfuls of silky purple petals in her wake. The crowed cooed appropriately. He didn't recognize her, perhaps a distant cousin or daughter of a friend. Having run out of flowers half way down, she twirled her skirts blithely, enchanted with the pretty picture they made until a woman, presumably her mother, ushered her off to their seats. Next came Amber as maid of honor. Her gown was pretty, but remarkably sedate given her ostentatious proclivities. Cedric begrudgingly admitted some credit that even she knew better than to upstage the bride on her wedding day.

Though she bore a wide, angelic smile, Amber's eyes never stopped moving. Over the crowd, to the alter, the orchestra set discreetly behind and off to one side, ever watchful for any detail that might go astray. If she weren't already a princess angling for her own prince and kingdom, Cedric would almost be tempted to warm Baileywick about his job security. Amber left no detail outside her control, except it would seem— when her eyes lit on him and her smile dimmed a few degrees— the choice of groom.

 _Well, damn her_ , he though, _that makes two of us_.

Amber took her place on the left, taking care to drape her skirts down the steps in an elegant ripple. The music changed once more and Cedric found himself holding his breath.

Roland appeared first. And then, on his arm—

The held breath squeezed from Cedric's lungs, the lack of oxygen making him lightheaded as the vision of an angel glided towards him. Later he wouldn't be able to recall a singled detail about her dress, except that is was white and covered in lace. There might have been a veil, but even that he couldn't recall clearly. None of it registered except her pleasantly flushed face, her swan like neck, and the silky sweep of her gathered hair curling over one bare shoulder. She appeared every inch as a happy bride — a happy woman— should on her wedding day. He hadn't given Amber enough credit that she could pull off a wedding of this caliber with just fourteen days, but she had.

Everything was perfect.

Except the groom.

Cedric couldn't be sure what expression he wore— wasn't sure what expression he should be wearing at a wedding not of his choosing— but he didn't smile. Only stared. Unbeknown to him, to anyone watching he appeared a most interested groom. Not happy exactly, but certainly entranced by his bride as she made the slow walk down the long aisle. His eyes never left her, not for a moment. In the third row a small cluster of Sofia's princess friends blushed, fanning themselves. In the seventh row a village girl swooned. Dotted throughout the crowd women dabbed at their streaming eyes with handkerchiefs borrowed from their husbands' pockets.

Before long Roland and Sofia were standing at the bottom of the short staircase. The king squeezed his daughter's two hands, kissed her on the cheek, then took his seat beside the Queen with a worried glance in Cedric's direction. Did he think Cedric was going to suffer a case of last-minute nerves and run? He could have laughed at the idea. There was no place in the world he could escape the spell Sofia had fashioned for them.

Sofia climbed the three short steps up the dais, handed her bouquet to a waiting Amber, and together they knelt on a padded bench before Enchancia's High Bishop. Silently Cedric thanked the fastidious traditions of royal weddings. Though not a religious man, the traditional ceremony saved them from starring dreamily into one another's eyes or reciting hand-written vows. The wizen clergyman made the sign of his god over their heads, bestowing his apparently vital blessing. At that Cedric could have also laughed. It was all so solemn, as if any of it were actually necessary.

The next hour (or perhaps eternity, as it felt that long) this vainglorious representative of God (singular, and Cedric always had to bite back the urge to ask, "Which one do you mean exactly?") recited line after line of dry scripture in Old Latin. Sofia bowed her head piously, so Cedric did the same, though mostly to hide how little he was paying attention. Sweat gathered between his shoulder blades as the mid-day sun beat steadily down on their uncovered heads. The Bishop's drone coupled with the heat made him feel remarkably dull-witted. The omnipresent panic in his chest sent wild palpitations through his heart, keeping him awake. If he were lucky, perhaps he'd suffer a heart attack and leave his scheming bride a very young widow.

Time played its tricks again, slowing for the endless ceremony then speeding forwards as if to compensate. Suddenly they were instructed to rise, face one another and join hands. Hers felt clammy and he was sure his own were equally unappealing. Cedric dutifully intoned the words given to him to repeat, staring blankly in the vicinity of her right shoulder. The words felt dry and useless in his mouth. There was no magic in them, no charm that could save this sham of a wedding, but he said them anyway. When the Bishop asked, "Do you …", Cedric solemnly answered, "I do."

Sofia did her part, gazing up at him with something like sincerity. She even said, "I do," like she meant it.

James stepped forward, pressed something into his hand and Cedric slipped a slender white gold band around her offered finger. The matched band she placed on his own tightened like a noose. He wanted this whole affair over with. He wanted to be away from the many eyes weighing him and finding him lacking. He wanted his solitude and his old life. He wanted all the thing he would never have again.

The bishop raised his voice to the crowd. "By the power vested in me by almighty God and by the kingdom of Enchancia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

 _Kiss?_ How had he forgotten about the kiss?

For the first time, a look of uncertainty clouded Sofia's bright eyes. His grip on her fingers tightened as he took a small step forward. Sofia's chin tilted up, offering her lips in a temptation more potent than he'd anticipated.

 _Those lips so soft and warm_ , he remembered. _She tasted improbably like sugar cookies and smelled like vanilla. The aroma clung to her hair and he'd gotten a heady rush of its scent when he'd buried his face in her curls just as he came_.

Hastily, he pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. A look of dismay furrowed her brow, but she erased it before anyone could catch it but him. The bishop stammered slightly as he presented them, clearly confused by the chaste, almost fraternal display. Cedric ignored him, turning to the assembled crowd, Sofia's left hand clutched in his right.

"Your majesties, honored guests, it is my esteemed pleasure to present Princess Sofia Isabella and Prince Consort Cedric Gwyddien of Enchancia."

If anyone thought the kiss odd, it didn't dull their reaction. The crowd rose to its feet, clapping, cheering, some blowing their noses loudly as happy tears streamed down their faces. A royal wedding always inspired a kind of religious fervor through the population. They did not cheer for him or even Sofia; they cheered for themselves, convinced that the uncertain times were behind them and all would be well again. What was one loveless marriage if it kept peace in their small corner of the world? Their beloved princess was safe from the scourge of the council's decree. She'd married one of their own and their clannish kingdom would remain intact.

Sofia tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Together they made the long procession down the aisle. The guests beamed, all their fickle love and devotion on display.

He held his head high, ignoring them all. He was royalty now, and when had a little thing like love ever been of a concern?

* * *

(A/N: Small jump to just after the wedding reception. Cedric and Sofia have just been taken to their new home. Cedric's POV here.)

The cottage was spotless, whether from a stasis charm or a fleet of diligent servants he neither knew nor cared. His mind filled at the first sight of it, memories and a strange desolate feeling to be back. Light decorations in his mother's style remained, sedate paintings keeping the walls from appearing depressingly bare, and bric-a-brac balancing the empty shelves and mantle places. In the room that used to serve as his father's study he found a bottle of 20-year-old scotch tucked in its customary place in a low cabinet along the southern wall, just where his father had left it. _No alcohol_ had been the strict stipulation of his mother when they moved into their retirement cottage at Mystic meadows. Along with one other demand: no study. Goodwin promised to retain no room of singular masculine solitude in which to hide from his wife, the way he'd used this room to hide from his family for two decades. Remarkably like how Cedric was using that same room to hide from his new bride, though he didn't like to meditate on the comparison.

No, he reasoned, he wasn't at all like his work-obsessed, hard-drinking father. His situation was different. Exactly _how_ he couldn't readily say, but he had to believe that it was. A grim little voice whispered assurances when he hands didn't so much a tremble as he poured three finger's worth of Faire Isle whiskey into a cut crystal glass. This wasn't going to become a habit, or even a some-time indulgence. It had simply been a trying day and he deserved some means of relaxation. He'd gotten married for Merlin's sake, and this very minute his _wife_ was in _their_ bedroom, undressing.

He picked the glass up too hastily, some of the contents splashing out over the back of his hand. The glass tipped back as he took a healthy swig and tried to concentrate on the burn in his throat rather than the one in his heart.

* * *

(A/N: A tiny jump to later that night. I wrote a whole scene from Sofia's POV about the new house, but it just seemed to bog things down, so I cut it out to better plow ahead. Basically imagine Sofia waiting for him alone in bed and he doesn't come so she goes in search of him and finds him in the study.)

Cedric sprawled in one of the leather chairs before the roaring fireplace. A bottle sat on the side table along with an empty glass. His eyes were closed, his head lolled slightly forward and to one side, the fingertips of one hand splayed across his forehead.

Sofia tiptoed silently forward, her satin slip whispering across her skin. She shivered, wishing she'd though to put on a dressing gown. The sweet scent of scotch in the air called to mind memories of _that night_ making her heart pound and her nipples pebble. She crept closer, seeing that he had removed his coat and bow tie. His cuffs links were open as was the top three buttons of his shirt, showing a peek at his chest beneath. She thought she spied something glinting there, a chain perhaps. Odd as she'd never imagined Cedric the type to wear jewelry. It was a thin chain, finely made, disappearing down beneath his shirt. She let it pass as heat began to gather in her belly. She knelt at his feet, her back to the fire, unsure why she wanted to do what she was about to do, only understanding that she wanted to move him; to make him feel something besides anger and contempt towards her. Or worse, indifference. The memory of his insultingly chaste kiss upon her forehead incited something dark, almost vengeful, in her chest. _That night_ he had showed more passion than ever she'd witnessed in a decade of friendship. She wanted to incite that passion again.

And she couldn't deny that she wanted this for herself as well. His husky promises, whispered, rasped, some groaned into her ear, had worked their dark spell. These two weeks past she had indeed longed for things she never expected. Things she barely understood.

She longed for him.

Her trembling hands laid themselves lightly upon each splayed knee. Nerves plucked, she poised, ready to flee at the slightest objection, but he said nothing and remained as he was. Her hands smoothed up his thighs, towards the fastenings of his trousers.

Carefully, she undid the top button, then waited, holding her breath.

Nothing.

She undid another.

Nothing.

She could almost believe him asleep, unaware of her intentions, but he was too still for the laconic repose of slumber. Beneath her hands his manhood quickened, straining against the last two buttons. She opened another.

"What are you doing?"

Sofia nearly jumped from her skin. Her eyes snapped up to find his open, looking at her through a half-lidded gaze. Her hands froze, poised over the last binding.

He wasn't stopping her. Not yet, at least. He hadn't jumped up, nor flung her hands away. She licked her dry lips. Something like pain flickered through his eyes but was gone too quick for her to be sure.

"I'm your wife," she said simply, as if that explained everything. Or anything at all.

They stared at one another, unmoving. She wasn't sure if she should forge on or move away. Cedric seemed to be similarly working through the options and she decided that she wanted to reach her decision before he reached his. She held his gaze, moving in a slow, deliberate way as she pushed the last button through its mooring. His breath quickened, eyes darkening. Reaching into the softly gaping fabric, she caressed him in a long slow stroke of her fingertips. Cedric's eyes closed again, his head falling back against the chair as a ragged breath shuttered between his lips. She drew out the warm, firm flesh, marveling at the velvet feel of him in her hand.

Unwatched she grew bolder. Curling her fingers into a loose fist, she experimented, stroking him slowly. He made a soft sound, less than a moan but more than a breath. It made her want to dare for more. Her tongue flickered out to taste that silky flesh before she could stop and question if it was wise.

This time he did groan.

She licked him again, knowing now how proper lubrication could heighten such pleasurable sensations. Lapping in slow seductive strokes, she wetted him from base to tip, lovingly tending every needy, throbbing inch before taking him into her mouth properly.

The leather creaked where his hands gripped the arm rests. His breath came in short hard pants.

She didn't attempt anything clever, recognizing that she had no developed skill to draw upon. Instead she relied on observation, listening for what made him gasp and groan. She felt the subtle tensing of his thighs beneath her hands, observed the impatient shifting of his hips closer to where she knelt, head bent over his lap. She tasted the salty, not-quite sweet essence that wept from his tip.

His fingers wove into her hair prompting her own moan of appreciation around his fullness. She was discovering that she liked the feel of his hands in her hair, the needy way his blunt fingernails skimmed her scalp; the tension of his straining grip, fighting to remain gentle.

"Great gods," he breathed huskily.

His hips began to move. The hands cupping her skull steadied her as he thrust slowly and carefully through her softly relaxed lips. She let him do as he pleased, loving the way he still treated her tenderly even when driven to the mad brink of desire. Her thighs squeezed tight together around her burning core. She fully expected him to finish here, pouring his spent seed into her willing mouth. And she _was_ willing. Pressing her fingertips into his thighs, she began to bob her head in a counter rhythm, encouraging him. She wanted to show him that she could do more than take, she could give him pleasure the same as he'd given her.

He sped up, groaning hoarsely. She tensed, expecting he'd burst at any moment, only to let out an undignified squeal when he suddenly pushed her away.

Hurt flashed through her, the keen blade of his rejection cutting deep. Then all at once she found herself hauled to her feet, turned around and pushed back into the chair in one swiftly executed maneuver. Barely had the disorienting sense of movement come and gone before she registered Cedric now kneeling on the floor, pushing her thighs open. Heat slammed into her face, realizing her shift was pushed well up and the intimate hollow of her sex on vivid display. No one had ever looked at her there and certainly not with such avid interest.

"I want to taste you," he whispered, his breath hot and tingling across those damp, intimate lips.

Sofia gasped, back arching as the first sinful swipe of his tongue captivated her, body and soul.

Her hands flung back, reaching, grasping. She clutched the chair back, her nails biting into buttery soft leather. Her hips opened of their own accord. His hands cupped her thighs, spreading them wide to reach yet undiscovered places. No fold nor hollow remained untouched by the velvety stroke of his tongue, nor the silken caress of his lips.

Sofia mewled with pleasure.

Decadence manifest, the dark incantations he worked upon her flesh had her tossing her head. Tendrils of hair fell carelessly into her eyes, fine strands sticking to her sweat damp forehead. His kisses were a torture. Delicious torture. He made her _ache_. He made her _crave_. He made her desperate with desire. All her carefully constructed self-possession of the past two weeks crumbled like a sand castle eaten away by the tide. There was no hiding her true feeling from him, not in this.

"Please," she murmured senselessly, having no idea whether she begged for release or deliverance.

One of her hands wove into his hair, urging him impossibly closer. His lips sealed over that divine distended bead of flesh hidden in her folds and sucked. His tongue flickered, sending ripples of sensation rushing through her stomach. She twisted, strained, wrenched her body taut as if a demon were clawing its way free from her chest. Her breasts heaved and she _screamed_. A high wavering cry of pure ecstasy.

He rose to his knees, his member bobbing heavily from between his hips. A glistening tendril drizzled from the tip, a testament to his wanting.

Her legs hung open, unabashed now. Inviting.

 _Please_ , she begged with her eyes, _please, please don't stop. Not now. I couldn't stand it_.

She said nothing, fearing her words might break the fragile spell of pleasure and need that bound them together in this moment.

There was no need to beg. He lifted her thighs, rubbing himself along her moist slit in one languid caress before grasping himself by the root and pressing forward with a smooth roll of his hips.

That first thrust filled her completely. She took him with all the effortless grace her body had lacked the first time. As he began to withdraw her body clasped him instinctively, trying to hold him inside. She _needed_ him there. A hollow, wanting void opened in his wake, one he filled again with another luxurious thrust. Sofia sighed in ecstasy, inviting him to do so again, and again, and again. His hands slid beneath her shift, cupping the bare flesh of her rear. He gripped her firmly, bringing her to bear against each roll of his hips.

The first peals of pleasure came upon her like a summer storm, distant and threatening, then breaking open all at once. Her lips parted to moan, to scream, but she found them smothered in a rapturous kiss. His lips tasted musky and sweet and she realized she was tasting herself on his mouth. She didn't care, only cared that he would still kiss her. It was his kisses she craved. The kiss he'd denied her at their wedding ceremony only hours before. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, pressing her whole body to his as if she could claim him for her own.

He pulled her forward, hoisting her from the chair and onto his lap. Sofia's knees rasped against the carpet as they moved together in a ravenous dance. Undulating, grinding, no rhythm and all need. She couldn't breathe. The room spun dizzily, going dim and she had to tear her mouth away to catch her breath. But she couldn't. Couldn't because she was panting, moaning, screaming, a chorus of raw ecstasy falling from her lips.

He kept kissing her, her neck, her collarbone, pulling her shift aside to reach the satin curve of a bare shoulder. The tie of her shift unraveled at his insistence. The top slipped loose from her shoulders, catching in the crooks of her arms and on the swell of her breasts. He pulled the fabric away, seeking the heated peak of one nipple with his lips, the other teased between his fingers. She thrust her hands into his hair, the potent pleasure of their lovemaking sharpened to a brutal edge. She cried out, distantly grateful for the seclusion the cottage afforded. There was no one to hear as she unabashedly extolled the effect he wrought upon her.

The pleasure rose, crested, broke, ebbed, and began to rise again. She rode it. Let him take her, better prepared for the onslaught than the first time but no better defended against it. It crashed through her in a merciless stampede, bludgeoning her senses. Her head fell against his shoulder almost wearily, trusting in the wiry strength of his arms around her.

"Cedric," she murmured, his very name dear to her. "Cedric."

One long-fingered hand cupped the back of her neck, held her just far enough away from him so he could look into her smoky, pleasure filled eyes. His breath fanned across her cheek, sweetly fragrant with alcohol.

"Yes, sweetheart," he rasped quietly, intimately, "come for me. Let me hear how I make you scream."

His eyes, his voice, speaking to _her_. Seeing _her_. Beyond the arousal that husky commands induced, she felt another feeling, one fragile and infinitely more elusive. Hope, she realized. Hope for them.

Swallowing around her dry, rasping breaths, she gripped his shoulders, closed her eyes, and began to move with him. He helped her, guiding her hips in softly grasping hands. The cry rose in her chest, held in behind her bitten lip as the pleasure built inside her. Cedric bowed his head against her breast. The end rushed up out of the unknowable void, crashing over them both in an eternity of mutual rapture. Sofia cried out, long and loud as the warm sheath of her body grasped the throbbing length of his own. His seed spilled deep within. She wondered with a far-off worry how long their marriage would last before she found herself carrying her child.

The unbidden thought filled her with an equal weight of fascination and alarm. She wasn't ready to be a mother, not yet. But she set the notion aside. It was either too late now, or something she could consider in the future. Now was not the time for worries or troubled thoughts.

Cedric sagged against her. His hands gripping the seat behind her as he struggled not to crush her against it with his weight. Sofia realized then the ungainly sight they must be: Cedric still dressed, his pants open, her astride his lap, her breasts exposed. She decided at once that it didn't matter, nor did she care. He'd made love to her, on their wedding night no less, that had to mean something. He must forgive her. He simply must.

As he fought to regain his breath, she tenderly wove her fingers through the hair at his nape, petting the damp skin there. His hands came up, unwinding her arms from his neck. Gently, he pushed her from his lap and rose, buttoning his pants with an averted face.

Sofia sat upon the floor, growing colder with each passing moment of silence. With slowly building embarrassment, she lifted her shift to cover her breasts, redid the tie with shaking fingers. Cedric leaned against the mantle before the gently smoldering fire, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. She sat unmoving, unsure what to say or if she should say anything at all.

He spoke, quietly. "Just, go back to bed. Please."

She wanted to speak, to give voice the myriad of emotions crashing through her. He couldn't do this again, not again. He couldn't make love to her, have sex with her, fuck her, whatever he wished to call it, and then leave her alone and rejected again. She wanted to cry. She wanted to plead. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rail. Sorrow and humiliated anger mixed together in a potent brew inside her chest.

Ultimately, she did none of these things. Not because she was afraid, or too timid to speak, but because there was something in the defeated slump of his shoulders that begged her silence. She could shout at him until her voice went raw, but she'd be berating an already beaten man. And she'd been the one to break him. Again.

Quietly, she raised herself off the floor with the dignity befitting a princess and walked out to seek the cold comfort of her foreign, empty bed.

* * *

Author's note: Oy, so bleak. I might turn this into a full-fledged fic after all. I have so much more than you see here. But if I don't do that soon, I'll post part three here which will help move the story along to a less dismal place.

Fun facts: I chose Cedric's middle name as Gwyddien after a Welsh god of magic. It is also the name of young King Arthur in The Mists of Avalon.

And, if you'd like to read an alternative continuation that follows the original "Sofia drugs Cedric to get him into bed" story-line then I highly recommend reading Suiren Shinju's collection of short stories called Smutty Little One-shots. Chapter 4 is a wonderful take on the morning after of what I started in Sealed Part I and the inspiration that got me off my duff to complete and post my own continuation. Go check her out!

But first, please leave a review!


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